


Deceiving my Darling

by AA_Batteries



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angry Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Arson, Assassin Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Assassin Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Assassin Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Assassin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Assassin Toby Smith | Tubbo, Assassin TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Deception, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fire, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Flustered GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hearing Voices, Hurt Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Imprisonment, Lies, Loss of Trust, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Pining Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Possession, Protective Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Regret, Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tags May Change, Technoblade Has Braided Hair (Video Blogging RPF), Telekinesis, Telepathy, Torture, Trust, Trust Issues, Violence, we are burning so slowly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AA_Batteries/pseuds/AA_Batteries
Summary: Through the mask his eyes found George. The poor thing looked so desperate to scream and shout, do anything to stop him. But it wasn’t his choice to make.One of them would die here today.And with that thought in his head and an apologetic smile on his lips, he took a step back and he fell.---Dream is tasked with earning George's trust, and deception always was his specialty. But it seems George has an ability of his own that proves to be an interesting challenge for the masked assassin.(Updates Saturdays)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 93
Kudos: 164
Collections: Mcyt Fics I like - may contain ships





	1. The Little Things

As the sunset behind him, Dream stood tall, stance proud, mask staring silently at the small crowd before him. The mask was safe. It hid the fear, the confusion, the weakness from his enemies, his former allies, his friend. He took a slow step back and heard the crashing of ocean waves on the rocky shore below him. He could smell the salt on the air and could practically feel the drop just inches behind him, dark and rocky as the cliff face plunged down to the sea. A strong gust of wind blew past him as the ocean sighed, causing his cloak to billow out in front of him, forest green cloth whipping against the sky. Through the mask his eyes found George. The poor thing looked so desperate to scream and shout, do anything to stop him. But it wasn’t his choice to make.

One of them would die here today.

And with that thought in his head and an apologetic smile on his lips, he took a step back and he fell.

* * *

Dream woke up as he always did, cold and alone. He swung himself off of his deerskin cot, stretching his arms up above his shoulders before rolling out his stiff shoulders. He had a job to do today and he wasn’t about to let morning stiffness hinder him in his duty.

He sighed lightly, standing up and looking around his room. He lived in one of the many small rooms that had been naturally generated in the caverns he had called his home as long as he could remember. The stone walls sloped gently, occasionally jutting out at a few select places where the stone had formed ridges. The ceiling’s small stalactites held softly glowing, violet bioluminescent gems that grew within the cave system. They were the only source of light down here, fire too dangerous to use in the enclosed space.

It wasn’t a large room, just enough for him to store his few personal items, his cot, his tools, and a large water basin. He trotted over to said water basin, bare feet padding softly across the cool stone floor. He leaned down to the naturally formed pool of water, watching as clear, freshwater trickled from a crack in the wall, constantly filling the pond. The water reflected the shimmering purple light of the gems, rippling just slightly from the slow, constant waterfall that flowed into it. 

Dream looked down into the water, peering at his warped reflection. He was glad for the lack of light, not wanting to see his face. His face was too easy to read, too easy to manipulate. That’s why he always wore the mask. He dipped his hands into the cool water, disrupting his reflection further until it wasn’t visible at all. Cupping his hands he brought them up to his face and drank some of the clear, crystalline liquid. It tasted slightly earthen on his tongue, the natural filtering through the ground having infused the taste into it. He enjoyed it, as strange as it might seem. It made him feel a little more tied down, closer to the walls around him and the spirit of the world. Being trained specially to trust his instincts he had spent a lot of time listening to the earth. The wind, the rain, the grass, they all had their own voice, they all had their own story and energy flowing through them. That’s how magic worked. You could draw that energy into yourself and focus it. But Dream didn’t have that capability, he had something much more useful in his line of work.

Running his wet fingers through his hair, he combed out the knots, walking back across his room to where his items were laid out, ready for him to pick and choose. The first thing he grabbed was his mask. Some thought it silly, others threatening, but regardless it always worked to his advantage. He wasn’t yet well known on the surface, and he intended to keep it that way. He would never show his face, that was his strength, his power. He was constantly a mystery, even to those he knew well. He fastened the round, white, smiling mask around his head, securing it tightly, leaving just his mouth visible beneath it’s frozen, grinning face.

The rest of his outfit came together naturally. The black vest, the leather belt, the knives, daggers, and saber, leather shoes that could carry him miles and miles before his feet started to ache. He finally flung on his forest green cloak, topping off the outfit. The fabric wrapped comfortably around his broad shoulders, chasing away the chill of the caves almost instantly. The cloak was just as much a trademark as his mask was. It allowed him to hide on the surface easily, but pass through villages without drawing the stares of the innocents that wandered through their cobbled streets. He pulled the dark hood up over his damp hair, the hem falling just over the top of his mask, fully solidifying his hidden appearance. Finally, he pulled a sash around his waist, tying the cloak tightly to his body and completely concealing the weapons he carried. He turns sharply, letting his cloak whip out behind him as he strides confidently out of his room. He pushes open the lime curtain that separates his room from the rest of the tunnels that made up his home.

Looking out, he didn’t see anyone else nearby. No one walked down the sloping stone hall that connected the main tunnels to his room and so he continued forward to the center of the caves. He needed to go see his superior to receive his task for the day. He wasn’t worried that it would be anything too complicated, probably just some herbal remedy that had recently been developed that they wanted the formula to. A confident smile found its way onto his face as he strode comfortably towards the center of town. As he neared the space he slowly started to hear the sound of voices echoing through the halls, the sounds mingling with those of his soft footsteps. Turning the corner his eyes were assaulted by the sudden light located at the end of the hall. He stepped through the archway and entered his favorite place throughout the entire cavern system.

The tall, cavernous space was glowing with warm purple light. The small gems present in his room covered almost every part of the stone walls, always emanating that mystical, steady light Dream had come to adore. It was much nicer than the harsh light of the sun on the surface, this light making everything look just a little bit more mysterious. Small shops and rest stops lined the walls in rooms not unlike his own quarters, though these were normally slightly larger. Some had been carved out of the stone, those easy to spot as the gems had only just started to crawl in along the edges of their walls. Others were lit brightly, having been naturally formed, the walls never touched. Dream’s stride was light as he made his way around the slightly cylindrical cavern. He took a few flights of stairs up into the higher reaches of the space, waving to the few who called his name as he passed by. He eventually reached the place he was looking for. A high archway, higher than anyone the others throughout the caves, met him, heavy blood-red curtains draped across the entranceway. The curtains split down the middle where the symbol of their clan rested, black inc scrawled across the surface in the shape of a broken laurel. It was a symbol for the downfall of high powers and the rise of the smaller forces scattered throughout the land. The curtains themselves were a piece of history, tattered and charred edges baring the scars from many battles that had been fought and won for their clan. He approached them slowly, inhaling as he did, catching that nostalgic scent that all the members of their clan knew well. They smelled of smoke and earth, blood, and mold. These were the scents that really reminded Dream of a home, a clan, a family that had taken him in and taught him how to survive.

And he only had to do his job in return.

He pushed his way through the curtains, entering the spacious room beyond. Before him sat a large mahogany table, five shadowy figures sitting behind it. Smooth stone covered the walls, the light coming from gems trapped within lanterns rather than ones that had grown naturally. Dream padded across the floor towards the imposing figures, not at all afraid of them. Instead, he felt comforted in their presence. This was one of the few places he felt truly safe. He bent down to one knee, bowing his head slightly to them. This was their place of power and the feeling emanating from what seemed the room itself demanded respect.

“You summoned me,” Dream said, head tilted down. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply feel the aura of the room, of the simple awe-inspiring feeling that being there created. Rumors circulated every now and again that this presence followed these five wherever they went. The Fathers, as they were called, had created this clan and had led it justly as long as anyone could remember. 

The man sitting at the center of the table stood, “Indeed,” he said, the word ringing across the rounded walls, “Rise.”

Dream did as he was instructed, rising to his feet and letting his eyes come open, watching the men before him.

“We are stretched thin as of late, so we have a more menial task for you to complete. You will have five days,” the man started, pulling a familiar large book out from behind the desk. He tugged it open, flipping to the page was searching for and resting a gentle hand upon the yellowed paper. Dream knew what to do. He walked towards the table, turning the volume to face him. Rows upon rows of names were scrawled on the thinning paper. A name he didn’t bother to read was written neatly beside an empty space. He took the pen offered to him and put his own name besides the one already there. 

Immediately he felt the change.

A familiar chill ran down his spine as the binding spell tied itself to him. He could see the face of his target in his mind’s eye, he could feel their life as though it was tied to his. He inhaled deeply, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders back. He never grew tired of this feeling, the anticipation of the hunt. His tongue licked the back of his teeth and he could practically taste the adrenaline that was already rushing through him, a side effect of the spell. He bowed briefly, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

Though he couldn’t see it, the five men behind him all smiled slightly.

“He’s going to be a great Father.”

* * *

Dream looked around the cavern of his home with newly sharpened sight. He could already feel the marking from the binding tracing itself onto his skin, a black laurel, he knew. It would look like a simple tattoo to anyone else, should they see his back, but to those here, it was both a blessing and a warning. A promise and a threat.

But he couldn’t care less because he had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes chapter one of this story.
> 
> This is the first series I've done in a while, and after much deliberation, I decided on this fantasy setting. I'm hoping this gains some ground because I've been playing with this idea for a few weeks now, but let's find out together, shall we?
> 
> This one is going to run for a while I believe so stick around, we've barely scratched the surface. I'm probably going to update this guy weekly to twice a week, whatever my schedule allows for.
> 
> Massive thank you to my closest friend for proofreading and brainstorming with me. She is a huge part of my motivation to write for you guys.
> 
> Leave a kudos if you enjoyed it. It gives me a heads up that I'm doing the right stuff.  
> And comment. Comment theories, thoughts, feelings, pain. Comments = inspiration = faster chapters.
> 
> Have fun browsing!


	2. The Spark of a Fire

Dream practically flew through the trees away from the burning village. He heard thunderous laughter, originating from somewhere in the forest just behind him. He rolled his eyes, continuing to sprint through the densely packed trunks, swerving this way and that to avoid their rough bark. His feet pounded heavily against the ground as he ran, leaving their mark on the soft, moss-covered ground as the excess adrenaline of his escapade filtered through his veins. Not even his cloak could keep the exhilarated goosebumps from making their way down his arms as he shivered from the rush of it all. After running a good mile away from the village he slowed to a halt and turned, looking on proudly at the ominous pillar of smoke they had left in their wake.

Soon his partner caught up to him, their own eyes gleaming with the high mirrored in his own soul. This was the rush of the kill. Both of their hands were covered in slowly crusting blood, clothes slightly stained from the gusts of ashes that had hit them as they retreated from the charred town. His own, usually pristine, mask was streaked with ash and drying blood, making it even more disconcerting to look at. Dream’s companion whooped, fist punching the sky as he jumped up, shouting and hollering in victory. Dream chuckled, the sound low and in the back of his throat. He walked calmly over to his friend, placing a stained hand steadily on his shoulder. Golden eyes darted over to him and his friend slowly calmed down, the shade of his irises slowly fading to a dull green. Both inhaled the scent of the forest slowly, the smell of mud and decomposing leaves mingling with the distant smoke. Both slowly came down from their high, their bindings released. The last of their adrenaline drained from their system, leaving them feeling both drained and relaxed. Dream reached up slowly, stretching out his wound up muscles. Hunting was entertaining, but it didn’t come without its strains both physically and mentally. His friend yawned loudly, cracking his neck before turning and walking away from Dream, back turned to the fiery blaze left behind them.

Dream jogged up to him before matching his pace to his friend’s, “A good hunt, Sap.”

Sapnap grinned broadly, canines gleaming in the light of the surface, “I didn’t do it alone.”

Both laughed lightly, moving quickly away from the carnage they caused. The last thing they wanted was to be caught now. After the rush of the kill, specifically immediately after their bindings were cut, was when they were at their most vulnerable. Energy was expended on those heightened senses and quick reflexes. Dream, who was more accustomed to long, tedious hunts, fared far better than Sapnap after the binding’s power left him, but it was clear after a few minutes that his compatriot was going to be sleeping for a while after today’s hunt.

Dream lead Sapnap back to their home, both of them laughing softly as they stumbled back through the forest and to the hidden entrance of the clan. Along the way they stopped by a clear stream, rinsing their hands and blades of blood that had dried, clinging to their belongings. When they finally reached a familiar rocky face, they slipped through the narrow crack split into the stone, picking their way over the fallen pebbles from the jagged walls around them. The path slowly sloped down and widened, allowing them some breathing room as they made their way down. Eventually, they reached the section of the path where it was simply pitch black. To a stranger, the darkness might feel all-consuming, threatening, and confusing to be in, but to a member, it was simple to find the path through the tunnels and eventually reach the dim purple lights of their home.

Dream and Sapnap made their way through the twisting labyrinth of the entrance, working slowly towards the canteen. Upon reaching the entrance of the crowded, dome-shaped room they both looked about for any two empty seats to be found within the clamoring area. Assassins filled the room, some in casual clothing, some just back from a hunt themselves. The sounds of clinking cutlery scraping on plates and peels of laughter spilled through the cool, damp air. Sapnap pointed to a table occupied by one of the more well-known groups within the clan.

“We can sit over there. They have two empty seats all the time anyway. We could practically become regulars,” Sap said with a grin as he gestured towards the table.

  
  
Dream gave him a bemused look, “I’ve heard they can become quite the handful…”

“So am I, and you seem to handle me just fine,” Sapnap said before he bounded off carelessly. Dream sighed, following slowly behind him, looking slightly amused at his hyperactive friend.

The pair walked over to the jumbled assortment of fellow assassins gathered around the circular table. Roaring laughter filled the air around them as someone told the punchline to a story they had not had the privilege to hear. As they neared the table, all five members of the group turned their heads towards them in sync. It would have been particularly disturbing if it weren’t for the fact that this was a commonplace event. The five seemed to have some connection to each other, strings tying them together as they might a family. And though none of them were blood-related, it was clear their relationship with each other was that of a tight-knit kinsmanship. They had come together through turmoil and loss, pain, and treasury, and they had made a mark doing so.

Dream slid onto a stool next to the youngest of them, Sapnap placing himself beside his masked friend. The young man beside Dream beamed in his devilish way that promised trouble for those it was aimed at, and Dream couldn’t quite place his name. Dream gazed at the boy’s mischievous blue eyes through his mask, trying to predict what he would try to pull. Steady banter from the rest of the group slowly picked up again as their staring competition continued, crystalline blue meeting emerald green, one full of excited fire, the other patient, calculating. After a long silence between the two, someone else decided to jump in, drawing Dream’s attention.

“Dream, how was the hunt?” They asked. Dream looked to the individual, immediately recognizing the telltale monotone voice of Techno, or The Blade as he was known on the surface. As Dream peered over at him he was reminded quite how extreme Techno’s choice of appearance was. Long pink hair lay braided on the back of his head, slowly coming down to rest over his shoulder. A leather-bound book rested in his gloved hand and he pulled off his reading glasses as he turned to his full attention to Dream, folding them neatly and setting them down on the table. Techno was outfitted as he always was in public, looking almost like a noble in his pristine, tailored clothing. Should someone be unfamiliar with him, they might take the man for a snob, but Dream knew he was far from it.

“It went well, Techno,” Dream said with a smile, pulling off his hood and slipping out of his stained cloak. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the rough wood of the table, threading his fingers together and resting his chin on the net they created, “How about you? Any enjoyable hunts lately?”

Techno gave him a knowing smile that didn’t reach his cool brown eyes, “You know I never give more than I need to,” there was an edge to his tone this time though, and Dream immediately backed down. He remembered all too clearly when those eyes had turned upon him, a scarlet red in place of their normally warm chocolate color.

The others, seeing the sudden cut off between the two started their own slow conversations around the table. Phil, the father figure of the group, asked Dream and Sapnap more details about their hunt. When Sapnap nudged Dream to start off the tale, the man had sighed, recalling the unimportant details of the trip to the target village slowly in a way he knew would annoy his raven-haired friend to no end. He bit down a laugh when Sapnap sharply cut into his story, bringing in his own dramatic recollection of the hunt. Somewhere along the way he had found himself a drink and became tipsy quickly from both excitement and exhaustion, unable to handle the alcohol.

“And there we were,” Sapnap said ominously, standing now, with one foot planted on the ground and the other stood atop his stool and he leaned slightly forward, eyes squinted. One hand out in front of him painted the scene before them all, swiping across the air, the other clutching the fifth or sixth bottle of beer he had managed to get his hands on, “Looking at this little village in the middle of the woods. Practically no one goes there so witnesses would be few, and, better yet, all of their houses were made of wood.” A crazed grin crossed Sapnap’s face as he remembered the moment they looked down upon the small cluster of wooden houses. Dream could recall the way his lips had twisted into a delighted smile from their vantage point in a high tree. They had been stalking their individual targets, trying to determine where they were within the town when Sap’s eyes had started turning that molten gold color they all feared and adored. Sapnap had been born with a very specialized talent, just like everyone else was. His just so happened to be one that paired beautifully with his destructive job as an assassin.

As Sapnap continued his tale, Dream zoned out, drifting into his own recollection of the events. That had unfolded. They had arrived late in the afternoon on the first day of their countdown and had quickly set up in a tree, watching the village rigorously. Both had been freshly bound that morning so the adrenaline from the binding still coursed through every cell, setting them alight with a thirst for blood. After setting up their stakeout location, they had settled for the night, watching for any sign of their respective targets, and soon after the sun started to rise, the silent night breezed by them with the rush of anticipation through their veins. Shortly after the rising of the sun, Sapnap’s eyes had goldened, the intensity of his gaze laser-focused, almost feeling like enough to set something on fire. Hypothetically, with training, he might be able to, but Sap currently lacked that discipline, so the smoldering heat within him went unchecked as they waited for the first opportunity to strike. They hadn’t had to wait long, the villagers rising with the sun to set about their morning duties. The two had quickly been able to spot their targets, the strange connection from the binding spell tying them to their corresponding individual.

And after that, what could only be described as all of hell broke loose of its bounds and sprung itself upon the poor, unsuspecting souls.

Dream and Sapnap had charged down from the treetops, two shadows darting across the forest floor. Their lags sprinted across the forest floor, but their footsteps only stirred the dried leaves resting there, leaving no trace of them even as they ran. Dream had been quick to corner and dispatch his target. His dagger slid smoothly across her throat, cutting off her fear effectively. He loved the feel of her blood dripping down his fingers and falling onto the muddy ground. He had laid her body gently down, making sure to keep out of sight. Sapnap hadn’t been as careful with his prey, that much had been apparent even without hearing his perspective, but hearing it firsthand made Dream shake his head in disbelief.

“I was already burning, you see,” Sapnap said, continuing his story from some point Dream had failed to catch. Taking another swig from his bottle of beer, he started up again with vigor, “So when I touched the wood it just...” he made an explosion motion with his free hand, imitating the sound as well, “And then everything was on fire. And oh, it was glorious. People were screaming and running. All I had to do was touch something and it practically turned to ash.” He said, tapping the blond’s nose, who Dream still failed to remember the name of. The boy flinched, absorbed in every word of the epic tale. Sapnap then described their gallant escape back to the caverns in a much more exaggerated fashion than needed, but Dream let him do it, enjoying seeing his friend so hyped about one of their hunts.

“I wish I was a mage,” the boy muttered softly as Sapnap wound down from his story, retaking his seat and laughing wholeheartedly as he tipped the rest of his drink down his throat. He slammed the empty bottle onto the table and pointed a finger at the boy, eyes unfocused as the alcohol set in.

“Not as easy as it sounds kid.”

The conversation wound down from there, becoming jokes and snide comments at one another’s expense. After a bit of pointless small talk, Wilbur had attempted to start some chaos as he seemed to egg on the blond boy beside Dream, daring him to try something. The boy, who had seemed like he was waiting for an opportunity anyway, attempted to spring forward and grab Dream’s mask from his face quickly. His finger shot out towards the white surface, a devilish grin painted across his face.

Dream’s hand shot out within a millisecond, catching the blond’s wrist easily. He hadn’t even gotten close to the mask. The conversation around the table quickly died as the motion sliced through the conversation and they felt a shift in the air. Dream inhaled slowly, head turning to look at the boy. The young blond let out a nervous chuckle, gently trying to tug his wrist back. Dream didn’t let go, all the things he could say to the child before him immediately coming to his mind. He could make the boy before him quiver in fear or bow to his every whim with a single phrase if he truly wanted to. That was his talent, his special ability he had possessed since childhood. He was an expert liar and a masterful persuader. He always had been. His face was his weakness. It could give away his true intentions or falsity behind his words. His mask is what kept him in control and safe.

“Dream, B-Big man. Really it was a joke. It won’t happen again,” the boy said, shaking slightly. With the break in his composure, information about the boy flooded into Dream’s brain. Tommy, the charmer, able to make others forget certain aspects about him if they made eye contact. He’d clearly been practicing to have had Dream under his influence for so long without noticing. Dream waited just the right amount of time for Tommy’s nervousness to spike before releasing his wrist.

“Mistakes can get you killed, Tommy. Be careful who you mess with.”

The table’s silence slowly slipped back into comfortable conversation, but Dream no long partook in it. After a while he excused himself, heading back to his chambers. His boots thudded against the stone floor just as they had on the way into the central cavern, echoing through the arching halls. As he turned the corner to the hall with his room he was shocked to see a small red flag dangling from the spike driven into the stone wall. He had gotten one of these just two days ago. Every chamber had a flag spike, and when a flag was hung on it, it meant something was happening. Red specifically meant an assassination was being tasked to him tomorrow morning. He was a bit surprised, seeing as he had only just come back from a hunt, but he wasn’t complaining. Dipping into his chamber, he grabbed the red cloth as he pushed open his curtain and entered his room. He stretched thoroughly before heading to sleep.

He would have business to attend to tomorrow.

* * *

A good distance away from the violet light of the Fathers’ clan’s base of operations, a young man paced against his wooden floors, running shaking fingers through his hair. The strands already stood up as absurd angles from being tugged day in and day out. As he paced his eyes darted back and forth between two prototypes of his new machine. He was told these would help obliterate crime in the kingdom. He was told he was a hero for starting the development of such a wondrous device.

_ Screams rang in his head. They yelled for mercy. They begged him to stop. _

His pacing increased in speed with the concerning thoughts that scraped across the back of his mind. Could this really save people? Was it really moral to keep trying?

But he trusted his king. He trusted the king’s advisors and their mages and all the other people who attempted to help him in the process of development.

He let out a heavy sigh, stopping in his tracks to crash down into an oak chair sitting at the side of the room. He braced his elbows on his knees that bounced feverishly and rested his chin on the pale knuckles of his fists as he peered at his creations. He swatted away the fears that batted at his mind, deciding to focus on what he knew he could do and worry about the consequences later. A dark chuckle bubbled upon his lips as a terrible thought crossed his mind, the effect of stress, and lack of sleep, probably.

No doubt someone was going to kill him for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who could mystery man be >.>  
> Place your bets.
> 
> Still setting up the plot and setting. We're getting juicer next chapter, I promise.
> 
> God, I cannot thank my proofreader enough. She is a lifesaver and spares me from making the stupid mistakes. Thank you <3
> 
> As always leave a kudos. Drop by with a comment.
> 
> Love yall <3  
> (follow me on Twitter )


	3. To Begin the End

Dream woke up just as he had two days before, entering the same mindless routine. Stand, stretch, wash off, don outfit, leave. It was a well-practiced dance he had memorized the steps to long ago. The stone hallway was once again empty as he trotted down it, purple light bathing him in it’s luminescence. A smile touched his lips. He really would always love these damp, cool tunnels. They brought him comfort, knowing he always had a hope to return to.

He turned a corner, expecting to see the bright entrance to the main cavern, but someone partially blocked its view. One of the Fathers stood there, empty-handed, waiting for him. Red robes ran down to the floor, sweeping against the gray stone. The man’s face was old and wisened, wrinkle lines showing shallowly where muscles had pulled at the skin over time. Dream stopped in his tracks, frozen mid-step with one foot in front of the other. After a brief pause, he fixed his stance, his middle bending as he bowed low to the ground.

“Dream,” the older man addressed him, voice warm and kind, “Please, there is no need for such formalities here.”

Unsure, Dream rose slowly, his look of confusion hidden by the black smile smeared across his mask. He peered at his elder silently, allowing him to continue speaking without interruption.

“You won’t need to go to the hall today to get your assignment. Instead, I’m here to tell you the specifics in person. This assignment is possibly the longest you will ever have. In fact, it doesn’t have a time limitation at all. You will be tasked with gaining the trust of and gathering information from an individual and then dispatching of them quickly and quietly. This individual, however, is a master detector of lies, so we are choosing to send you in, our master of lying.”

Dream nods, considering the words, “So what am I supposed to find information on? And why waste time gathering trust when we could use advanced interrogation techniques?” Dream questioned slowly before paling, wanting to bite back his words, “Not to question your methods or reasoning!” He continued hurriedly, tipping his head down.

The man before him chuckled, “For you, it’s quite alright. We are looking for information on a machine of some sort that this individual is responsible for creating. As far as we can tell he is the original designer of the product. All we currently know is that this machine is a threat to our clan and its members, but not how nor why. And why we are using a lengthier technique of gathering this intelligence is due to the failures of previous questionings. We have attempted to use advanced interrogation techniques on a few of this individual’s colleeges, but they all bit the bullet before we could even start the questioning process. It seems all are prepared to bring this information to their graves if need be. And we can’t risk this one passing on before we get his intelligence.”

Dream nods, "Understood."

The man handed him a scrap of paper, its edges wrinkled and its surface yellowed and aged. Dream took the fragile sheet with tentative fingers, holding it with care as to not rip it. He recognized the material, having had signed its original source countless times. The man smiled at him, handing him a familiar pen, “We want this mission to be off the radar. No one here will know where you are going or who your target is other than us and you. Tell no one when you leave and don’t let anyone see you.”

Dream nodded again without hesitation, “Of course.” Taking the writing tool, he carefully scratched his name into the thin paper, making sure not to rip the weathered object. He felt the chill of the binding run through him as soon as his hand lifted from the sheet, The telltale mark of an assassin stitched itself into his skin as he let out a shallow breath. The rush he normally felt for short missions was more subdued now than ever before. Some part of him missed the immediate feeling of power that came with the brief, high energy bindings of the short assassinations, but another, louder, part of him loved the anticipation of the long hunt, the slow crawl before rushing forward in bloody victory.

He smiled.

“I won’t let you down, Father,” Dream said, bowing quickly before trotting off down the halls of his home towards the exit.

He took the back halls, moving almost silently to keep the echoing walls from revealing him to any stray wanderer. The power of the fresh binding slowly settled into his bones as he walked, causing him to thrum with the ever-present energy that the binding caused. It was exciting, the freedom of this binding. With no time limit, he would always be able to call upon the extra energy of the binding without fear. The Fathers were trusting him with something akin to limitless power, something he could use any way he wished. To be bestowed with such an honor was something he had only imagined to earn. He swore right then and there to use it for the good of his home.

After a long while of strolling, taking as many detours as he thought possible, he reached one of the lesser-known exits of the caverns. It was a crevasse he had discovered many years ago with Sapnap when they were still mere boys, never having left the caverns since they entered. They had been exploring their new home vigorously, wanting to discover every nook and cranny of the grande space. Looking around gave him a small sense of nostalgia. The air here smelled just slightly of the surface, the penetrating sense of the damp earth being cut back by the fresh air drifting into the small enclave. A sharp, white beam of light cut through the damp air, catching on the particles of dust that hung suspended there. It was one of those places that made you stop and just look, and Dream remembered vividly being awed by it even as a young boy.

* * *

_ “Come on, Nick. You’re so slooooow,” Dream shouted down the rounded tunnel, bouncing along the floor as he waited for his new friend. He had just turned 13 and was now allowed to explore the caverns without any supervision. As a treat to his younger friend, who still had to have someone in tow when he wandered, he had suggested they explore together. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Ok  _ Dreeeeam, _ ” Nick shouted, drawing out Dream’s new name as he stumbled around the corner, playful glare staring down his older companion, “That’s a stupid name anyway. It makes you sound too friendly. How are you going to strike fear into the heart of your enemies with a name like that?” _

_ “It’s not stupid,” Dream responded defensively, trying to come up with his own witty response, “It’s cool. Because I’m so handsome! All the ladies will be head over heels for me!” he said confidently, striking what he assumed was a daring pose. Nick only snickered at him as he caught up, bumping Dream’s shoulder. _

_ “Suuuure. I haven’t even seen your face. I highly doubt you’re all that good looking,” Nick teased, skipping ahead of Dream and looking around for any hidden hallways they hadn’t gone through. _

__

_ Dream flushed, though he knew Nick wouldn’t be able to see the embarrassing red that had blossomed on his face. His entire face was wrapped in bandages, only his eyes visible through the white covering. Very few of the people in the caverns had ever seen his face and he intended to keep it that way. _

_ “Hey Dream! Look at this!” Nick shouted from further down the hall, “I found something!” _

_ Dream rushed over to his friend, peering around him to see what he had spotted, “What is it?” _

_ Nick pointed a little bit up the hall to a jagged hole carved out of the rock. The purple crystals that lit the cavers weren’t as dense around the hole, making the area just a bit dimmer and adding to its eerie aura. _

_ Dream didn’t think too much of it, grabbing Nick’s wrist and tugging him forward, “Well, what are you waiting for, let’s go,” Dream said with a laugh. Nick allowed himself to be led by the taller boy, a smile of his own scrawling itself across his face. The two pushed and giggled as they ducked through the dim crevasse into the mysteries beyond. The two tripped across the narrow path, the crystals that they had all become so familiar with slowly thinning until it was almost impossible to see. The lack of light, however, did not deter the pair’s storm forward into the unknown. _

_ When they first entered the dim room on the other side, both were silent for a moment, their carefree nature cut off immediately. Something about the room demanded silence. At first glance, it didn’t seem too special, but the unique scent of the air and the sharp slash of life that cut through the clear air was simply breathtaking. After years of seeing the same dull violet light, hearing the same echoing off the stone walls, smelling the same damp air, this room was something magical to the two young boys who had stumbled upon it. _

_ They had stayed there for a long while, just admiring the room. Neither of them dared near the crack that shed the mysterious white light into the room, both having heard the terrifying tales of the surface. Instead, they played their games of pretend and war inside the small room, whooping loudly and listening as the echoes rung out and rebounded to them and only them. The next day they came back, and the day after that. It became their hideaway, their safe space. It stayed that same place until the day Dream was sent on his first mission. Without him the room felt empty and strange to Nick, so he left it be. By the time Dream came back, they were both too occupied with his adventure to remember the strange place. It wasn’t until years later that they had come across it again together. They had relished in the memories of a childhood long gone before moving on again and leaving the room to its ghosts. _

* * *

"Dream," the voice snapped him out of his reverie, his head turning to the cool tone.

"Sap…" he said, tone hushed and slightly nervous, having been caught off guard by his friend, "What are you doing here?"

"Just thinking. I come here sometimes. It… calms me. It reminds me a of a more peaceful time, before the fire came, ya know?" Sapnap stepped out of the dim shadows, the strip of light cutting across his face, revealing a golden eye, "Why are you here Dream? You haven't been here in, well, who knows how long."

Dream was silent for a moment, the lie forming in his mind before he even realized he needed one, "The opening caught my eye. I thought I'd come in, just to remember. I needed to go to the surface anyway."

Sapnap waited a moment before nodding, believing Dream without question. Dream felt a pang in his chest. Not guilt, following orders was more important than this, but perhaps sadness. Sad that he had to lie to his friend, that he couldn't bring his most trusted ally along with him for the longest ride of his life.

"I want to find a gift for someone," Dream says, jabbing a thumb towards the opening the bright light streamed from.

Sapnap smirked, crossing his arms across his chest, "Oh? Who's the lucky lady?"

Dream shook his head with a grin, stepping towards the opening silently, "I'm not into all that relationship stuff, you know that. My responsibilities to my home come first."

Sapnap raised his hands in surrender, "Whatever you say, Dreamie. Have fun getting your gift for this special someone," he said with a wink. He then turned towards the entrance into the hollow. Raising a hand in a wave he smiled, "See you later."

Dream waved and watches Sapnap's back retreat into the darkness. He slowly lowered his hand after a moment before he stepped towards the white light, entering the thin crack in the wall and wandering outside, up to the surface. He emerged in an unfamiliar part of the forest that covered part of the caverns, but it wasn’t long before he was able to identify where he was and where he needed to go. Taking a deep breath of the fresh chilly air, he strode into the thick maze of trunks, green cloak fluttering out behind him.

Alone under the shelter of leaves brushing against each other in the canopy and the piercing crunch of the plants under his feet the thought back to the name of his target. A face he had never seen before popped up into his mind as he recalled the name. A smile touched his lips and he whispered his next words onto the soft breeze of the forest.

“Oh, Geooorge…”

* * *

A chill was sent down George’s spine as he bent over the blueprints for the newest iteration of his machine. He stood slowly, rolling out his shoulders and blaming the open window for the goosebump-inducing sensation. With a sigh he strode over to the window and shut it slowly, peering out of the frosted glass for a moment before rolling down the sleeves of his shirt as well, just to be safe from whatever cold had managed to penetrate his home. The fire popped gently in the corner, giving the room a warm, orange glow to accompany the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Stop being so paranoid,” George chastised himself, rubbing his arms up and down as he hugged them to his torso. He couldn’t explain the tenseness that had entered his shoulders recently, pulling the muscles taut at every sound that shuddered through the thin walls of his home. He sighed at his own foolishness, chuckling slightly.

“Superstition is for fools, George. There are no ghosts here,” he reasoned, turning his back to the cool glass of his window. The sun sparkled through, hitting his back and glowing against the white fabric. The light didn’t warm him though, as it normally would for anyone else. Instead, it felt calculating and cold, like it was watching him, waiting for something. He shook off another shiver, facing his tedious work once again. He picked up his pencil and stared at the paper that coated his table, covered in rough graphs and sketches. He tapped the worn utensil against his chin a few times, thinking.

He had missed something, however, something vitally important. Just behind him, past the rays of the sun that filtered calmly through his window, through the crisp air he blamed for chilling him, beyond the sunny, cobblestone streets that rushed with figures as they passed by his house to go to wherever they thought was important, hidden in an alley on the side of the road, was something much darker than the shadows that shrouded it. It grinned, two false smiles covering it’s pale face. It shrunk back into the safety of the alley, green fabric just barely skimming the light of the sun before it disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, friends, and quite possibly, friends.
> 
> We are entering the plot, how does it feel?
> 
> Thank you so much to my lovely proofreader once again. She pushes me through and gives me the best ideas to make this story the best it can possibly be.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment. They fuel me onward into the horizon into the sun of motivation. And while you're at it, go check out my other works as well!
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> I love y'all, have a great day <3


	4. The Way of Lie and Truth

Dream often prided himself on his endurance and ability to observe his subjects thoroughly before even attempting to make contact. He was always careful, a simple shadow that no one ever saw, one that no one would even bother to notice. That was how he liked it. Being seen was dangerous and messy. It was an annoyance he would much rather leave untouched.

His patience was being thoroughly challenged with George, however, who barely ever left his home, let alone speak aloud to anyone but himself. It was becoming incredibly boring to simply watch him go through the same mindless routine every day without fail.

Maybe his boredom was the reason he decided to take a risk and approach the man.

Maybe it was just stupidity.

Dream strolled down the streets of the market slowly, pretending to browse through the many products being sold at the various tents that lined its perimeter. No one noticed him, just another wanderer of the bustling roads. He had removed his mask in favor of white bandages, similar to those he had worn as a child. It wasn’t strange for one to cover their face this way, others assuming it was due to a deformity or scarring of some sort. If anything the covering caused fewer people to notice him. Everyone looked away, his apparent malformation a blight they feared may spread to them if they simply looked for too long. He was fine with that. He liked the anonymity.

He admired the market as he walked. It was truly a sight to behold. Colorful fabric fluttered in the air, moved by the soft breeze that swept through the streets. The stone walls of the buildings close to the market led the wind directly to the center of the crowded area, whipping the scents of ripe fruits and exotic perfumes into the air alongside the rainbow of cloth already there. Venders shouted into the open air, advertising this item or that vegetable. It was all so alive and innocent. It was a freeing feeling to wander out in the open in such a spirited place.

Dream ducked around the people that packed the area, keeping his head low as he slowly observed his surroundings. He found himself once again observing the people of the surface as he had on many other occasions. There was something so fundamentally different about them that separated them from the assassins of his clan. They all seemed so very optimistic about living life. With every new town he wandered into, with every new face he saw, he noticed something that he hadn’t fully found a name for. This energy of simply living was something he wasn’t familiar with. But he couldn’t dwell on the unknown, so he turned back to a task he was all too familiar with. Tailing.

Following the short head of brown hair that belonged to his quarry wasn’t difficult, not only because he was experienced but because George stood out so starkly from the rest of the lively mob. George trailed cautiously through the crowd, head low, steps quick. It was interesting to watch how someone who had lived here for so long still seemed so paranoid around the people he should have known for years, as though he simply  _ expected _ to be stabbed in the back at any moment. The few times he looked up were only to examine some item or another in clearer light or to ask a question to the occasional shop owner. And even then, he never dared make eye contact. Dream watched it all, storing the knowledge in the back of his mind just in case it could be used later. 

Dream also noted the various things George actually purchased. Apples, potatoes, various other food items, things any average person would buy on a Sunday morning. However, he didn’t just purchase food. He also bought various parts of machines, some old and rusted, others pristine and new, shining brightly in the light of the sun. Dream memorized these objects, mind trying to place them in any machine he had seen before. He was unable to think of anything, though, as he watched the parts pile into his target’s bag until the fabric sides stretched and strained from the weight.

After a few hours, George finally seemed content with his variety of food and metal. He turned around, heading back in the direction of his house. Dream saw his chance to finally approach George and took it. He changed his pace, lowering his head so he was looking at the ground, dodging around the feet he saw as he rushed straight towards George. George, as it happened, was also looking down, looking through his spoils instead of watching where or who he was heading towards. Dream felt his lips quirk up slightly behind the white bandages that covered them.

Dream made sure their collision was as halting as it could be without looking staged. His arm rammed into George’s shoulder full force, causing George’s bag to fall to the ground and spill onto the floor. Round produce rolled slowly across the ground and metal clanged against hard cobblestone, causing a discordant symphony of crashes to ring through the air. Those around them quickly took in the sight before either moving on or looking away, not wanting to be drawn into the potential conflict. Dream put on an expression of absolute mortification, immediately dropping down onto his knees and gathering up the fallen items.   
  
“Oh! I’m- I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you coming a-and I was just… I’m so incredibly sorry,” he said hurriedly, pushing a nervous stutter into his voice. He made sure his hands shook as he picked up the items sprawled against the ground as slowly as seemed reasonable. He wanted to force George to help him gather the items, this meeting a simple test of character as well as an easy way to gather basic information.

To his slight surprise, George followed him to the ground soon after. A small, gloved hand grabbed his wrist gently, stilling the quivering motion of his hand. Dream glanced up to the face of his target, expecting anger or malice to be carved into his features. He was utterly shocked when he was met with something soft and kind filtering through eyes the color of melting chocolate. George’s gaze warmed him to his core. It felt welcoming and comforting, a stark contrast to his usual paranoid nature. Dream was shocked to feel heat rising into his face.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” George said, voice just as warm and gentle as his eyes. He slowly released Dream’s wrist, moving to pick up his belongings himself. Dream watched his face, waiting for some kind of anger to flicker across it at a bruised apple or dented part, but nothing did. He seemed completely fine with Dream’s misstep.

“You aren’t… you aren’t angry?” Dream asked, his mind subconsciously keeping him in the character of the nervous man. He wrung his hands together to complete the look of his newest character, eyes darting around nervously, only glancing off George.

“Of course not. It was a simple mistake. People like you and I have enough trouble getting around in this world anyway. I won’t cause you any more than I need to,” George said, tracing a finger along one of the many curved pipes that had been in his bag.

Dream sat stunned for a moment. He had expected George to be reserved, maybe shy if not an entitled snob of an inventor. His brow creased slowly as he thought, “‘People like you and me’?” he repeated quietly, a question. 

George smiled slightly at him, raising up a gloved hand. He pulled the cloth of his glove up just a bit, revealing gleaming metal underneath, “People the rest think aren’t normal,” He answered, allowing the fabric to drop back down after a second. Dream considered this new information and took a moment to really look at George. Originally he had thought the man was just skinny, possibly malnourished. But upon closer inspection, it became clear it wasn’t just his form that lacked weight. The cloth of both of his sleeves flapped a bit loosely around his forearms. Dream suspected that both limbs had been replaced with metal alternatives for the muscle and bone that should have been there.

“Are you a weapon?” Dream asked without truly thinking about it. He had only ever seen prosthetics used for the weaponization of someone if they were injured in battle or on a mission. It made the most skilled warriors even more deadly. But George didn’t look like a warrior. In fact, he didn’t seem strong at all, about as harmless as a moth.

George chuckled quietly, gathering up the last of his things and standing, “No. Not quite,” He said vaguely, offering a hand to Dream to help him off his knees. Dream took it, letting George pull him up rather than standing by himself, “I didn’t catch your name, stranger,” George said, as Dream stood, looking up at the taller man and not elaborating upon his answer to Dream’s question any further.

Dream was ready for George’s return question though, having created a name along with his new personality long before deciding to run into George. Regardless, he hesitated, keeping up his character as he looked around a bit nervously.

“It’s… It’s Dave,” He said, adding a nervous smile that pulled at the bandages that wrapped around his face.

There was a pause, one longer than would have been expected. George looked at him for a moment, frowning just slightly, “No, it’s not ‘Dave.’ I’m not cross with you for running into me, why lie?”

Dream froze. He wished he had a detection stone because something unique was happening between the two of them regarding their magic. It wasn’t often opposing talents collided, let alone in a direct confrontation. But even without the stone, he could feel the magic sparking in the air around them, lies meeting truth head-on, warring like the scents of the market chasing those of the city. He could feel his mind racing, trying desperately to create another lie in face of the sudden challenge of someone who could read him so clearly if he so much as relaxed. It was almost as frightening as it was exciting, to discover this new barrier he had to leap across.

He bit back an exhilarated grin.

“I… Y-you aren’t angry at all?” he asked, melting back into character. At George’s shaking head he took a shallow inhale, clearing his mind to come up with a new name, a new lie, a new person he would become just as easily as all of his other personas. But something stopped him.

Maybe it was the scent of the air thick with magic and life, maybe it was curiosity. It might have even been a test of just how deep he was willing to go into this mission.

Amongst the waves of rainbow fabric, tucked away, hidden within the throngs of people of the cobbled streets, under the clear blue sky that shone with the harsh white light of the surface, he spoke forbidden words that were muffled only by the flimsy fabric covering his face. He didn’t know what drove him to say the name he had left behind long ago. One he had replaced in favor of one that told him where he belonged.

“It’s Clay.”

* * *

Clay certainly was a strange one.

George had met many people in his life, from bullies to colleagues. All of them had had talents that separated them from the crowd, a personality so loud or so quiet that shouted to the world that they were unique. Some were full of lies to make a personality for themselves. Some were so honest it ended up hurting them. But Clay, Clay seemed almost like a ghost, empty and shifting wherever the wind decided to blow.

George knew that, even with how closely he watched the crowds he walked through, he never would have noticed Clay, the invisible man walking silently with his head low to hide the bandages that shielded him from the world. He didn’t carry the same energy as everyone else in the busy streets of the city, he didn’t possess the life George had grown so accustomed to seeing. He was a shell, left to drift until he was seen...and George had seen him. But even when Clay had been seen, he still seemed formless. Normally it would be clear if someone was putting up an act to George. He would be able to see if what they said was genuine, he would know if he needed to be wary or if he could drop his guard, but Clay was a ghost even in this sense. George, throughout their conversation, hadn’t been able to pin honesty from act or truth from lie. Trying to read Clay had been like trying to grab a spring breeze, the air tauntingly brushing your fingers and laughing it’s timeless whisper across your face as it cut around you.

Then there had been the lie, solid and sharp, just as real as a slap to the face. It had been shocking to feel it amongst the twisting personality that was Clay, the only real thing about him. And even more confusing, when George had caught him in the lie the ghostly wind had changed once again, becoming more liquid than gas, something George could now feel, but not truly grasp. And even then, the solidification had been so brief that George had been left, once again, in the swift breeze after no more than a second.

And as though the run-in hadn’t already been shocking enough, then the truth of Clay had shown through suddenly and unexpectedly after the confrontation with his deception. A stark contrast to the sharp lie, a soft, warm, tentative truth had appeared, beautiful and fragile. And as George looked at Clay now, considering him, he had fully fleshed out in his mind what Clay felt like.

He was a ghost in every sense of the word, just as solid as the empty air. But at his core was a gorgeous truth that peeked through the breaks in the wind before it was blown apart again.

George smiled at Clay, hefting his bag over one shoulder, “George. It’s a pleasure, Clay.”

Clay stood silently for a moment, his state twisting between liquid and gas, almost something George could feel and understand, but not quite. But soon it swept past him again, comfortably unreadable once more.

“Y-yes! Sorry for running into you,” Clay replied quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with a warm hand. George envied his sculpted hands, flesh and bone that was all too often taken for granted. He briefly wondered what had driven him to show this complete stranger his metal replacements for the body he would never get back, but passed the thought rather quickly.

“It’s not a problem, don’t worry about it,” George dismissed quickly with a wave of his hand, “I’d best be heading off though,” he said with a gentle smile, re-adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he raised his hand in a small wave as he backed away from Clay. Clay raised his own hand in turn, watching George go with those curious golden eyes of his. Those eyes seemed almost catlike, shifty, sly, and curious all at the same time with no in-between. George turning his back on the market and the man, thinking over the encounter.

He made the trek back to his house in a familiar silence, comfortable and safe. Dull people dressed in the same dull yellow and gray colors passed him by, not giving him a passing glance. He trained his eyes upon the clear blue sky in which the bright sun rested confidently. Its light traced shadows around the outlines of the various buildings that lined the streets of the town, leaving dark patches printed on the rough ground where George walked. Looking up into the bright blue sky while he was stuck on the gritty ground made him wish he could fly, fly up and away from all the pain and confusion that had been infused into the world he stood on.

His talent was a blessing and a curse for him. Sure he was able to read people, tell truth from lie, but the benefits of that only went so far. When someone told him he looked good, he could tell when they were lying. When someone thought of him as an outcast, he knew just by talking to them. Maybe that was one of the reasons he was so drawn to Clay, someone he couldn’t read, someone who could keep their mystery and intrigue.

He reached his home quickly, pushing open the rough wooden door. It swung open with ease on silent hinges. George slid in, shutting and locking it behind him. The wooden halls of his home stared at him as he wandered in, leaving his purchases on a table already cluttered with various things he didn’t have the energy to sort through. He kicked off his shoes and socks, bare feet curling against smooth cool wood. He walked right into his study, the safest place in the entire building. Papers scattered across every surface, pencils abandoned next to half-finished scribbles. Dust lay on forgotten projects, swirling up into the air to reflect the sun as he walked past, disturbing its rest. He let the calm warm glow of the room untie his taut shoulders as he inhaled the soft scent of the sun hitting crisp paper. Slowly he removed his gloves, metal blinding him in the sharp light of the afternoon sun. He allowed metal fingers to skim the skin of his cheek, cold and smooth.

He suddenly decided it was too chilly in the room. He sparked up a fire in the small fireplace, crouching in front of the flutter flames as they attempted to ignite the stubborn logs placed above them, hungry and desperate for much-needed fuel. On a whim he stuck his hand into the flames, watching as the fire tickled and licked across his metal flesh. It eventually abandoned him in favor of the log, which made him feel strangely alone.

He looked around his silent study, looked at the white reflections of sun off paper and the markings of his mind scratched onto useless sheets.

He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again <3
> 
> I appreciate all the love I've gotten so far. Every kudos and every comment honestly means the world to me and I cannot stress how much it makes me feel like I'm doing something really worthwhile. Thank you, once again, to Alice for tanking through as my proofreader and just giving me all of the best things to laugh about as I plan out this story for the rest of you all.
> 
> (Fun fact: George wasn't wearing socks at first. This was changed rather quickly.)
> 
> As always leave a kudos and a comment, and hey, while you're at it maybe follow my Twitter (@AUDODD2) for updates and retweeted mcyt fanart!
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> See y'all next week <3


	5. The Purge

Dream ran his fingers through his already mussed hair, causing it to stand at a different ridiculous angle. To any onlooker he would look insane, hair stuck up at all possible angles, muscles tensing and releasing rapidly with pent-up stress and energy, feet pacing pointlessly as his mind raced, emerald eyes crazed and glaring at the ground as though it has personally offended him.

_ “It’s Clay.” _

He bit down on the bandages covering his face from the inside, muffling a frustrated scream. What had he been thinking? What had driven him to give up something so vulnerable?

The shadows of the alleyway he had chosen to make his small base of operations calmed him, the damp smell of stone and moss reminding him of a distant home. He was doing this for them, for all of those he had grown up with and sworn to protect. That was his duty, and he would fulfill it regardless of any stupid mistakes made along the way. He just had to be more careful.

He ran his fingers along the rough cut bricks of the alley walls, the gritty stone rubbing across his calloused fingers, scraping and scratching, catching on his skin. It was a good feeling, a grounding one. It was real and solid and familiar. He took a deep breath, the musty scent of the city filtering into his lungs. He coughed raggedly, still not entirely used to the strange surface air. It tasted dusty and soiled, much too dry in comparison to the comforting chill of the caves.

Looking up from his small enclave for security he noticed the darkening of the sky, the wind brushing past the alleyway carrying the light of the sun to rest as the day came to its end. On a normal day, the fall of night would mean his time to spy and watch his target in case of anything particularly strange occurring. Darkness was his protector and he used it to his advantage, but after such a confusing day, he found himself nothing but tired, only wanting to drift off with the sun slipping down the horizon. He sighed, slipping down the wall as the last of the sun’s molten light brushed across the taller rooftops of the city. It was a beautiful sight, calming his sore muscles. It occurred to him briefly how strange it was that his eyelids felt this heavy, that the comforting darkness of night was making him suddenly tired.

But sleep embraced him before he got to really become concerned.

\---

The scheduled purge of the month was never an enjoyable night. George knew the ruckus outside of his home would get nothing but louder as the moon rose higher into the ebony sky. He felt delicate sympathy for those who were unfortunate enough to be without homes on the cold nights like these, so he was able to feel glad that the palace was bringing them in, even if it was only for a little while. That’s how the purge went. The palace guards would enter the city just after the fall of dusk, sleep already cast upon the city streets. They would meticulously gather the few homeless and alone, bringing them into the palace walls where they would be processed and marked into the system before being given jobs of simple labor and a place to stay within the palace walls. It was an honorable system, one that allowed the odd jobs of the kingdom to be performed by those who struggled to find work elsewhere, and in return, those individuals were given shelter and food free of charge.

George sat silently in his study, watching the flames of his fire lick along the wooden fuel they were fed. Distantly he could hear the sounds of the ongoing purge. Cartwheels turning, the clopping of horses, muffled shouts as orders were handed out to the assorted guards sweeping the city. He allowed the crackling of his fireplace to drown out the disturbances, eyes slowly closing as his thoughts wandered.

He had a big meeting tomorrow with his crew of engineers. They were finalizing the next stage of his machine, trying to create something a bit more reliable than the one before. After months of toiling, they had finally hit a breakthrough with the construction and power source, so now all they had to do was condense the machinery to a more manageable size before testing it. George’s facial features creased slightly as he remembered the last tests they had performed.

_ Brutal screams ripped through the air, begging, pleading for mercy. The heated whirring of his creation caused the room to become an ungodly heat, sweat dripping from every one of his colleagues’ backs as gears turned and ground against one another. The walls warped and bent, the air itself curling away from the monstrosity of metal that caused the screams. The whispers that swirled across the room, just loud enough for only him to hear them… _

A cry from outside of his window snapped him awake. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep or how long he had been sitting there in front of the rippling fire that was almost nothing but ashes now, but it was apparent it had been longer than he had anticipated. More shouting outside drew him to his feet, tugging him towards the window. On wobbly knees still weak from sleep, he stumbled to the cold glass, peering out to the street below him. It seemed one of the members the guards were trying to purge had shaken off the elusive spell of sleep cast upon the city and was putting up a decent struggle. From his perch on the second story of his house he could just make out three figures, guards it seemed as the sliver of moon in the blackened sky shone down of them and reflected their metallic armor, were dragging just one person towards the crowded cart, other homeless people already fastened into the wooden box, fast asleep. The member they were dragging was putting up quite a fight for someone who was already being influenced by the magical sleep put upon the town, but their movements were growing weaker by the second, the figure’s energy draining before his eyes. Soon enough, a fifth person walked up to the group and placed a hand on the struggling man’s head. He instantly fell, body limp in the arms of the three guards holding him. He was soon placed amongst the rest of the purged citizens, just as still as a body.

The cart wheeled away soon after that, leaving George to wonder who had managed to evade the court mage’s spell. Certainly someone strong-willed. Perhaps they had been carrying a warding object, chasing enough of the magic away to allow them to fight for a bit before failing. 

He stood there a moment, pondering, before shaking off the strange scene entirely. It wasn’t any of his business who was out there, nor why. With a sigh he retired to his room, sleeping the rest of the night away in preparation for the day to come.

\---

Dream woke groggily in a dark room, eyes peeling open slowly as he tried to identify his surroundings. His head ached with a pain placed just behind his eyes, dividing his already warped focus. The stored adrenaline from his binding suddenly charged him as he realized what a predicament he could possibly be in. His heart began to race as his mind thought up possibilities for where he was. He had been caught and was going to be executed. The Fathers had deemed him unworthy of the task and had brought him back to the caverns while he was asleep. He had passed away and was now in hell for the many terrible deeds he had done during his life. As he panicked, a louder, more logical part of his mind cut through. Regardless of where he was, he knew that escaping was probably the best solution, so he would focus on that first.

He was alone, sitting in what seemed to be a wooden chair. His wrists were bound behind his back tightly with a simple rope. If given enough time it would be easy enough to untie himself, but he needed to know where he was first. Thankfully the bandages on his face remained there, so his features had not yet been revealed. Plain stone walls surrounded him on all sides from what he could see, and by craning his neck he was just able to make out the outline of an iron door behind him, the square-shaped window faintly glowing with whatever light lay in the hall behind him. The only object in the room other than himself and the chair seemed to be the torch that the wall to his left sported proudly. After shifting around it was clear he had been stripped of his weapons he carried in sleep. Fortunately, he always hid his stash with his green cloak which had most likely not been found, so when he escaped he would still have his arms available to him.

He started shifting his wrists around, identifying the strength of the rope that bound him. It wasn’t weak by any means, but he figured he'd be free in five minutes, if not less. Tugging at the rope he tried to remember the night before. He knew he had fallen asleep in his alley, tucked away where normally no one would find him, but clearly he had been found and somehow taken into custody without being awoken.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps echoing behind him, probably coming from the other side of the door. He could only hope they didn’t come into his room as he renewed his efforts to free himself two-fold. His frantic movement rubbed his wrists raw and he knew they would take a day or two to heal even with the binding. With the footsteps nearing and his panic rising, he could feel the binding doing its work and pumping energy into him. He was suddenly aware of the thick scent of magic swirling through the air, likely alarms and traps that were meant to keep people here. Being able to sense this he paused, revising his options. He didn’t get much time to though as the door behind him soon opened with a quiet screech.

He froze, stiffening in his seat and not yet turning around, waiting to see what would happen. The door thudded quietly as it shut once again, leaving him alone in the dark with the mysterious stranger. The light of the torch flickered as the new figure passed by it, their shadow cast upon the opposite wall twisted and warping. Their aura was strong and dark, a looming threat that he couldn’t place wrapped around his core, keeping him firmly on edge. Dream felt goosebumps rise up his spine as the figure rounded the chair and faced him.

The figure, a man as Dream could now tell, loomed above Dream, face impassive as he looked down at the bound man before him. He wore simple armor, no ornaments or adornments identifying him as anyone Dream should be worried about in particular other than the shining golden pendant hung around his neck. He did however carry that feeling of power he had become accustomed to feeling only in the Father’s chamber.

Silence stretched between the two men for a while, Dream not wanting to start the conversation, the other man just standing menacingly. Dream soon felt magic prodding at him, prompting him to speak. He sucked in a sharp breath as his own secrets spilled into his mind, desperate to escape, begging to be spilled onto the floor before him, bleeding for all to see. Quickly he clamped his jaw shut, not even breathing for fear that the words would leave without his permission. Whoever this man was he had a spectacular talent for interrogation. He would have to be careful. Dream was fully aware that the only thing keeping him from spilling everything he knew was the binding stitched into his skin.

The man raised a brow and Dream winced as another sharp prod of magic split through his mind. His brain screamed, things he hadn’t thought about for years resurfacing, things he would much rather forget jumping desperately around his mouth, the only thing he needed to do to let them free would be to breathe. His chest ached from his denial of oxygen and he slowly doubled over, trying to find a blank space in his mind just to silence the loud thoughts ramming through his brain.

“Stubborn one, aren’t you?” the man finally spoke, almost sounding amused as he watched Dream struggle. Dream remained slight, chest screaming for air nearly as loud as his thoughts now, but not loud enough for him to risk them escaping.

“What are you so desperately hiding now, huh?” the man crouched down, grabbing Dream’s chin and pulling up his head to look him in the eyes. Dream’s green eyes flashed in challenge at the steel blue ones now placed before him. He was growing light-headed as he refused to breathe and he knew that he would soon inevitably need to inhale. But, by some miracle, the mystery man before him decided to withdraw his magic, stepping back.

Dream sucked in the damp air of his prison, lungs expanding with the desperately needed air. He coughed roughly, catching his breath as quickly as he could, still gently panting when he regained enough composure to sit back up and look at his apparent captor. Fury burned through him, but it was woven with stubborn pride. He would keep his secrets and there was nothing this man or anybody else could do about it.

“There wasn’t any need for that, you know? You could have just let me have my information and been released to frolic with the rest of your kind.”

Dream thought over the words, still stubbornly refusing to speak. His kind...? That could mean any number of things depending on the information they had, which didn’t seem to be much judging by the torment he had just endured. That was unless this man before him was simply the average interrogator his abductor had available to them.

If that were the case he was decidedly screwed.

“Still nothing to say? Not a single question? Not one retort? You might as well beg me to let you go,” he chuckled darkly, crossing his arms.

Dream thought for a moment, considering his options. Recalling his character from the day before when he spoke with his target. He slowly filtered his thoughts and actions into ‘Clay,’ cutting off any train of thought triggered by the name before it began.

He hunched forward, becoming smaller, weaker. His breath shuttered as he let it out and he forced a crack into his voice as he spoke.

“Why am I here?”

His tone seemed to cause the man pause. His blank expression shifted just slightly into surprise before hardening once again, “Because you have secrets and we intend to figure them out whether you want to tell us or not,” with that he turned, walking back around the chair, footsteps ringing loudly in the small room. Dream heard the door creak open once again, but there was a pause, “And I suggest not struggling too much with those ropes. They have… unique properties.”

The door thudded shut with a strange sense of finality.

\---

The guard stormed quickly into the dark room. The rustling of paper stilled as the eyes of engineers and mages fell on him. The fire in the corner of the room popped gently, sparks flying quickly up the chimney. The guard stood in the door for a moment, wary of the quiet. This room always made him feel uneasy, with its careful silence and calculated flow, not to mention the metal monstrosity placed in the corner. He knew, even though the sheet covering it hid its more gruesome-looking portions, that beneath it was a machine of pain and misery, not to be trifled with.

“What is it Punz? Why are you here?” one of the engineers said, breaking the crackling silence.

The guard, Punz, cleared his throat, shifting as he glanced at the machine in the corner, “He has secrets. Seems we’ve got you maniacs a new lab rat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello
> 
> How are you?
> 
> I'm fine.
> 
> This chapter was somewhat rushed because I'm a master procrastinator and I'm entering the uncharted territory of my brain. The next few chapters are coming straight out of my ass and slapped onto paper as my brain makes it happen so good luck. Not the chapter you were expecting to come? Hey, me neither!
> 
> Thank you so much to my proofreader (my Hello) who manages to successfully throw me out the window and finish my work for me even when it's 10 at night because I suck at focusing.  
> (Notes from her: 1. The purge is actually not them taking all of the metal from the village including George's arms. She feared for his poor limbs for a solid 5 minutes. 2. Dream seems to manage to get arrested in multiple universes at a time for some reason. 3. Editor>Author)
> 
> As always I love your comments! They mean so much to me! And as I myself have only a rough idea of a story suggestions are very likely to be included if I like them, so tell me your theories and thoughts. And while you're at it maybe leave a kudos as well.
> 
> (Follow me on Twitter. @AUDODD2)  
> Thank you. See y'all next week <3


	6. The Right way to Turn

George entered the familiar palace gates just as he always did. Their iron spirals twisted up and scraped the sky, their majesty beautiful and terrifying by design. The crest of the kingdom had been intricately weaved into the gate, splitting down the middle as they creaked open for him alone to pass through. It was a chilling honor being allowed onto the palace grounds, something that, to this day, he had still not grown accustomed to. 

There was an immediately noticeable difference after he entered the palace courtyard. From the lively energy of the rolling city to the careful silence of the inner palace walls always made him wary. Not even the birds that he so often saw on the rooftops of his street dared to chirp here, the silence too deep to penetrate. He walked quietly forward, shoes tapping gently along the cobbled path. Trimmed bushes filled with perfect yellow flowers feathered open were spaced evenly apart on either side of the wide path, symmetrical round leaves glistening with morning dew waving in the soft breeze. The occasional caretaker passed him by, touching up the various aspects of the lawn. Every blade of grass was the same length, every shrub was the same shape. It seemed surreal.

George stepped up to the main doors to the palace, pausing to look up at them. Thick spruce wood towered above him, stained different shades in symmetry with the pattern carved into the surface. Very few went through these doors. Not even he had been through them yet. And today wouldn’t be the day he began.

Stepping off the main path he started following a shadier, dirt one. It was a servant's path, well-trodden and ignored. It was a stark contrast to the grand paved one carved down the center of the courtyard. The further he strayed from the path the less maintained the grounds became. Shrubs had grown into short trees, twisting their thin branches up into the blue sky, grass bunched up at their base, waving gently around shallow roots. One small blue flower sat innocently at the base of one of the trees, small petals smiling up at the sky, bright amongst the yellowed world that surrounded him. He smiled gently as he spotted it, pausing briefly to admire it’s life. He crouched down, reaching out a gloved hand to brush against the delicate color, saddened that he couldn’t feel the leathery, young bloom.

“George!” the shout snapped him from his reverie. His head popped up as he looked for the source of the sound, spotting a woman standing a bit farther down the path by one of the many small doors that served as entrances to the castle for the lower class, her arm raised in a wave. Cropped blonde hair framed her face, swinging gently in the breeze and she wore a simple dress, the outfit of a servant, brown and white. Under her arm not raised in the air rested a woven basket full of something George couldn’t make out.

“Niki. It’s good to see you,” he responded, standing and brushing his hands off on his baggy pants, more of a tic than to get anything off of the material.

The girl smiled brightly, walking over to him. As she grew closer he saw the basket was full of assorted clothing, neatly folded and looking clean and crisp. His attention was drawn from it as she grasped his elbow, beginning to lead him toward the door she had just come from, “I was sent to find you. Your guys were looking for you to talk about something.”

George rolled his eyes, tripping for a moment before finding his balance and allowing himself to be led by the soft-spoken woman, “You know they aren’t ‘my guys.’ Callahan is the only reason any of them listen to me in the first place.”

“Oh, George. Don’t say that. You’re here, aren’t you? In this palace, doing something for the benefit of the kingdom. You’re helping people! Don’t be so down-trodden,” she said kindly, pulling him inside.

George didn’t respond to her sentiment, faltering slightly before catching himself. She had lied. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to identify what exactly it was she had lied about, but he had felt it. Niki was like a field of flowers, soft and beautiful, somewhere you could lay down and release all of your secrets to the bright, sunny sky and let go. But the lie had been like a sharp rock digging up from the soft earthen ground to stab you back, chasing you off from the innocent-looking place. It hurt to be reminded that even the most gentle of people had sharp edges, but he shook it off, focusing instead on where they were going.

They reached a narrow spiraling staircase up and Niki dropped his arm to start walking up, glancing back once to make sure he was still close behind her. He followed silently, fingers wrapped loosely around the flimsy railing that supported the rickety wooden stairs. Their matching footsteps echoed up the rock walls of the thin tower until Niki stopped at one of the many thin doors that led deeper into the palace. Niki gave him her small smile, pushing open the door for him.

“Best of luck today, George!”

Lie.

He simply smiled back, though he knew without looking that it was strained, forced across his face out of politeness. He turned as quickly as he could without giving away his discomfort. It took him a moment to identify where he was, but before that, he just wanted to get away from the apparently deceptive woman.

Soon he recognized the banners on the wall and the maids that tread through the halls with their heads down and arms full. He walked until he reached a set of stairs, the plush carpet that lined the floor stopping abruptly at the first step downward. He sighed, rolling back his shoulders and making his way down to the most familiar place in the palace. The air became cooler the lower he went, the staircase submerging into the earth held back by thick stone walls. Torches flickered as the only source of light, small puddles formed on the ground reflecting the fire. When he reached the bottom he immediately turned down the right hall, knowing all too well what, or rather who, the left held. Before him rested a thick iron door, runes carved into its surface gleaming in the dim light of the tunnel. He lifted his gloved hand, rapping his knuckles against the surface rhythmically. There was a responding rapping before the door creaked open for him.

He stepped inside an equally dim room, the light scattered across the space with the people currently present there. No one spared him a passing glance as he walked over to his work station, all too engrossed in their own projects, backs bent over ancient tomes, candles flickering weakly. As he approached his own work station he felt a similar repulsion to the covered machine nearby. His bench was close to the fire, so he wouldn’t have to worry about the chill of the room, but the aura that came off of his creation was enough to send goosebumps down his spine.

He wrapped his arms around himself as he sat, gloved metal fingers digging into the skin beneath his thin shirt. He hated being this close to it, where it could reach him, talk to him. Already he could feel it trying to latch onto his mind, to reveal its secrets.

He didn’t want them.

A hand placed on his shoulder shocked him, and he jumped, turning quickly to its owner. One of the newer members of their little underground organization stood there, a shy smile on his face.

“Karl,” George said, letting out a soft breath, “you surprised me.”

Karl immediately lifted his hand from George’s shoulder, looking apologetic, “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.. Um, I’m still new so I guess I’m-” George waved a hand in the air, cutting him off. He smiled kindly at the fidgeting man.

“It’s alright. I know the feeling. What did you need?”

“Oh! Right,” Karl reached down, digging around in a leather satchel that was swung across his chest, handle resting on his shoulder. After a moment slender fingers pulled out a familiar pair of goggles. Delicate lenses and wheels were placed precisely around the circular, silver frames, fragile tinted glass filling the eyeholes. George’s hand immediately went to his neck, where the goggles would normally rest.

“You left them here last time you came so I kept them safe for you until you got back. They’re really cool,” Karl said, raising up the pair and peering through the glass, steel-grey eyes looking almost black behind the dark material, “Oh, uh, here,” he handed them over quickly, looking sheepish at his own curiosity.

George chuckled, taking his prized goggles in his hands. He lifted them above his head and let them slide down to their place around his neck. He hadn’t even realized they were missing, strange for something held so dear to him.

“Thank you,” he said, turning an appreciative gaze to Karl, who beamed at the recognition. George remembered feeling like that when he had first come here, wanting nothing more than to be recognized for his talents.

“I’ve been gone a few days now,” he started his next sentence, thoughts whirring with opportunity as it always had, aiming for the most beneficial route to take, “Is there anything that happened that I should know about? Someone told me someone here had been looking to talk to me.”

Karl’s stance tensed, hand flying to the back of his neck, fingernails digging into the soft skin there. George could identify the signs of a nervous tic before the boy spoke a word, “Oh uh… nothing much. I’m sure it wasn’t anything important.”

He also didn’t need a talent to tell Karl was lying.

It wouldn’t have been a big deal in most cases. In fact, he wouldn’t have even minded that he had been lied to, understanding the differences in his projects and others and that sometimes classification was required. But the lie had felt different from just any other lie. It was sharp, pointed, personal. His eyes narrowed as it drove itself through his chest, telling him that whatever it was would be something he wanted to know.

“Karl,” his tone darkened and he started to stand. At his full height, he was still a few inches below Karl, but the boy shrank away slightly, letting him know the height would mean nothing considering status, “Do you know what my talent is?”

It took less than a second for Karl’s expression to shift from nervousness to realization to regret. Karl took a step back, eyes darting to the other side of the room for some excuse to leave, “I, uh, yes. I do,” he let out a strained laugh.

“Then you know I am well aware of your lies,” George continued, taking a step forward to follow Karl’s step back.

Karl didn’t respond this time, having frozen in place, eyes trained on something by the door. His expression had shifted once again, this time to a look of awe. George could feel him practically buzzing out of excitement, his lie being exposed forgotten. George followed his line of sight, trying to find what had caught his attention so completely. He froze himself when he spotted it.

Callahan stood in the doorway. The Callahan the mage. And he was looking directly at George.

Callahan was the court mage, the highest ranking one could receive should they start in this room. He was a legendary inventor, being rumored to create death weapons at his fingertips without even batting an eye Everyone who had ever set foot in the room beyond the iron doors that led to it had aspired to become Callahan. He was their hero, a walking legend, and the prime example of perfection among them. 

The man wore a moose-skin robe, red paint drawn down the sides, swirling into complex runes and symbols for who knew what. The color stained on the fur reminded George of blood, but he supposed that was by design, just another intimidation factor to add to the many the mysterious man already possessed.

“ _ You, _ ” a voice rang in George’s ear, and he flinched, fearing the voices of the machine had returned to begin their endless screaming for a moment. When the screaming didn’t begin he looked back at Callahan, who was still staring straight at him. Callahan who’s ability was still only superstition, confirmed nor denied by anyone.

Callahan who no one had ever heard speak a word aloud.

“ _ Come _ ,” the voice demanded. George knew it wasn’t something he could refuse. He started walking silently forward to the man, feeling the aura and power that rose off the man like steam beckoning to him. George’s own curiosity and ambition pushed him through the crowd of his colleagues. He felt their eyes following him, confused at why he had suddenly started approaching the legend that stood in their doorway without a word. George didn’t return the stares, eyes locked on the pale blue ones that followed him through the crowd of desks.

When he reached Callahan, the man simply turned, walking out the iron door he had entered not a minute ago, “ _ Follow me. Do not speak a word,”  _ the voice ordered, and George did so without question.

The iron door clanged shut behind them with a metallic bang, the sound ringing through the silent tunnels. The sounds of their footsteps echoed soon after as George followed the man just before him. He might have thought it strange that Callahan had no entourage for someone of his stature, but amended his thoughts after considering that he was known as one of the most powerful people in the entire kingdom, let alone the palace. George was so engrossed in his own buzzing mind that he nearly ran into the man as he stopped abruptly not all that far from the door. They stood in the intersection that met the stairs, one leading to the dark room and the other leading somewhere that somehow had made itself much darker.

“ _ I have a proposition for you. And you have two days to answer, _ ” The voice began. It was unnerving speaking to someone who didn’t move their lips, and as George opened his own mouth to respond he found himself unable to, his voice snatched from him. A moment of panic flared in his chest before Callahan held up a hand, “ _ I wish for silence now. Listen. Speak later, _ ” George nodded, unable to do anything else.

“ _ As I’ve heard it, you don’t seem to like your invention to the degree that a proud creator should. This hinders the progress made, _ ” George wasn’t sure how to respond to the statement that rung through his head even if he could speak, so he opted to stay silent, peering at the man and waiting for him to continue, anxiety spiking into his veins. At his continued stillness, Callahan continued, “ _ It is a shame for such a machine to go to waste, so you are being offered an ultimatum. Either you make substantial progress on this invention to make up for the time lost or you leave and find work elsewhere. _ ” 

George found himself frozen in place, a statue of shock, listening as the words replayed in his head.. George knew he had been avoiding the machine, and more specifically the voices that inhabited it. And as much as leaving them behind may bring him peace, finding work elsewhere wasn’t an option. He was already seen as a public menace due to his prosthetics, let alone his isolating tendencies. No one would want him in their lively business to dull the light and chase off customers. The palace was the only reason he was still feeding himself, and he was chasing his passion while doing it. He wrapped his fingers around an all-too-thin wrist, clutching tightly to it in an attempt to ground himself, but the lack of sensation only proved to push him deeper into his pit of sudden dispair.

And just to ice the cake, he knew for a fact that Callahan wasn’t bluffing.

“ _ Two days. Leave now and don’t come back here until you have an answer, _ ” Callahan didn’t even give him enough time to gather his thoughts to form a response. The man simply turned, disappearing down the hall again and leaving George to stand in the suddenly stifling silence. He felt whatever magic hold had been cast around his voice release, allowing him to make whatever noise he could have imagined. He could have screamed. He could have cried. But he didn’t.

Instead, he walked back up the stairs, heading for his home in silence.

He had a lot to think about.

* * *

It was the dead of night when Niki could finally get away from her duties. As exhausting as her day had been and as obnoxious as it was that the simple chores she was given ending up taking so long, it worked in her favor. She walked briskly through the carpeted halls, footsteps practically silent, a basket hung on her arm carrying laundry. The only light that led her was that of the white moon filtering through the tall window panes, just allowing her to make out the dark maw of the staircase that would take her to her destination.

As she reached the stairs she peered quickly behind her, double-checking that no one would see her enter the forbidden staircase. If anyone happened to find her she could always feign confusion, but it was best if she wasn’t seen at all. After determining that there was, in fact, no one there to catch her, she ducked down into the void of the basement.

It was pitch black down underneath the surface of the palace, no torches lit during the night to light the way. But she didn’t need them, having taken this path nightly for the past few months. Her hand trailed along the wall as she descended the uneven stairs, fingers tracing across the numerous grooves and cuts scratching into the unpolished stone as she followed the curve of the wall to the floor. She soon entered the intersection she had become all too familiar with, turning to the left and once again following the wall. This hall was longer than the staircase, but the door she was headed to wasn’t all that far off. She counted off the cold metal frames as she passed them by until she reached the fourth. She stopped here, resting her open palm against the cool metal. She couldn’t see the door, let alone anything else in the dark, but she had been here enough times to know exactly what she was looking at.

It was a cell, the small iron door leading into a small, stone room. There was nothing within it other than a chamber pot that someone had allowed the resident to have. With a slow sigh, she rapped a secret rhythm against the metal, waiting for the response. The muffled sound of someone rushing to the door followed not a second after her knock and she crouched down to the slit in the door large enough to push a tray of food through. She pushed the screeching metal slit open with her hand, letting it rest in the opening for a moment. Soon enough a hand grasped hers tightly.

“Niki? Is that you?” a small voice asked from the other side. It pained her to hear how quiet it was, knowing that its owner should be lively and excited, but was instead trapped in this dark place, alone with no one to talk to other than her.

“Yes, it’s me,” she responded softly, giving the hand a gentle squeeze.

The hand, in turn, squeezed back, instinctively searching for that comfort she offered, “Did… did you bring it?”

“Of course,” Niki dropped her basket on the floor, digging through the laundry with her free hand for the hidden object within. Her fingers soon connected with it and she pulled it out carefully. It was a small loaf of bread, some of the only food the person on the other side of the horrific iron barrier ever received. It burned her to her very core that she had to feed an imprisoned boy in the dead of night so that he could remain alive and well. She pushed the loaf through the slot beside her hand and it was quickly snatched up.

She retracted one of her hands as she heard the quiet sound of the bread being ripped apart and eaten, leaving her other gently clasped around the prisoner’s. She stayed there in silence for a moment while they ate, thinking in the suffocating dark. She could only imagine what being down here for months had done to the poor boy she had never fully seen.

“Niki? You’ll come back tomorrow, right?” the question was muffled and distorted by a mouth full of bread, but she didn’t need to hear it to know the question. The exact same question had been asked to her every night for months now.

“I promise I’ll be here every day,” she responded quietly, resting her back against the door as she waited for them to finish eating. She didn’t say the rest of her vow aloud, something she kept to herself for now.

_ ‘And I’ll get you out of here, Ranboo, if it’s the last thing I do.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How're yall doing? I'm feeling like a casual 3.5k words today.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I got a ton of ideas down and am finally building up to some of the more substantial parts of my story (*cough* romance *cough*) I'm hoping of managing to keep it a tad interesting for yall ;)
> 
> Thank you so so so much to my proofreader who is just a complete and utter legend. We love her <3  
> (Notes from her: "It seems the characters are in a bit of a pickle... but a beautifully constructed pickle...")
> 
> And also thank you for all the lovely comments that fuel my writing process and fill my heart. I love each and every one, honest to god, and it warms me to my very core to see that people are enjoying what I'm writing. So thank you!
> 
> As always, comment, kudos, all the things.
> 
> Love yall <3


	7. Lie Ring True

Dream sat with his head hung low, dipping with the gravity that slumped him further into his chair. The passage of time was unclear for him, but he could only assume it had been a few days since he was brought down to his barren prison. His neck and shoulders ached from the awkward position of his sitting and his wrists burned from his hours of tirelessly yanking at invincible rope. Whoever the guard that had talked to him before was, they had certainly been right about the futility of trying to escape his bonds. They were clearly imbued with strengthening magic, something rarer than peace in the restless world they existed upon.

Magic, in a fantastical sense, was extremely rare. Very few possessed talents that allowed them to perform phenomenal feats, and those who did possess those abilities, like Sapnap, had to be very careful with them. Mages were unique and often sought after on black markets for one horrific reason or another. Some believed their bodies had special characteristics that bestowed them with their talent and wished to discover the secret to their inner workings, while others might simply want a toy to show off. Either way, having the ability to control the flow of magic that existed in this world so strongly put a target on your back if the wrong people found you.

Dream wondered briefly what the odds of coming across a person with an ability to strengthen objects were. This small kingdom seemed to have quite the arsenal of mages and unique talents at its disposal, something he would have to report back to the Fathers whenever he managed to escape.

And he would have to make it quick or whatever torture these mages planned to put him through would start to look like paradise.

He was shocked out of his train of thought as the metal door behind him was pushed open, the creaking hinges echoing loudly in the cramped room. His posture shot up and he strained to look behind him, unable to see anything but brief glimpses of the silhouettes of whoever had just entered his room. Hissing whispers and shuffling steps sounded behind him, but he could not make out anything distinct. He remained silent, opting to look at the wall before him, ears straining in vain to hear any of the conversations behind him.

Soon enough though light footsteps approached him. It was not the guard from before, he knew immediately. This aura was different. It was powerful and large, filling every crevasse of the room in its suffocating pressure. Dream could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, the primal instinct to run rushing through him, pounding through his heart in tandem with the adrenaline of the binding. The footsteps stopped just behind his chair and he could practically feel the stranger taking him in, noting his weaknesses and flaws. The feeling crawled under his skin, clawing up his spine and neck and sending chills down to his bound fingertips. He felt a hand placed upon the top of his head, resting in his blond hair, and his heart tripled in speed, fear coursing through him. When he felt a finger tracing something on the back of his neck he tried to yank himself away, but the hand on his head held him in place, not letting him get away from whatever they were doing. After a moment the light finger was removed and soon after the hand was as well.

Suddenly his body felt much calmer.

His taut muscles relaxed and his head lolled back as he slumped in his chair. His heart rate lowered substantially and he felt tired. His breaths were shallow and steady, calming as his heart leveled out peacefully. But something was driving spikes of fear and confusion into his mind, warning him to fight the sudden calm. He did not want to listen to the fear, enjoying the feeling of serenity that had suddenly embraced him, something he had not felt for years.

He felt a hand push his head up and touch something on the back of his neck. There was a beat of silence before a young, male voice sounded in the silence, “That is not a paralysis rune. So why is he-” the statement was cut off suddenly but no words followed to interrupt the speaker. There were a few more seconds of silence before he spoke again, “Oh, I see,” they responded to someone he hadn’t heard. His mind struggled to make sense of the strange interaction that had occurred behind him, until it suddenly hit him what had been said.

Runes.

Runic mages were practically unheard of, only briefly mentioned in legends and myths. As far as Dream had known they were just that, myths, something for mothers to tell their children so that they would not sneak out at night. But with the mention of runes and the memory of the tracing sensation on his neck he quickly pieced together that legend had suddenly become reality. 

He felt the ropes drop off of his wrists, sliding to the floor gently, but whatever spell had been cast upon him prevented his body from reacting. His realization of the existence of runic mages had awoken his mind, which was fighting tooth and nail to regain control of his muscles. A piece of cloth was tied around his eyes, rendering him blind, which only increased his panic. He felt arms lift him from his seat, standing him up. He did not have the control to even steady his legs, so there was nothing he could do when he started being dragged out of his room.

Though his body was still, his mind was racing, attempting to remember anything he had learned on runic mages. He knew they had essentially no limits in terms of magic, able to cast any spell whenever and wherever they wished. They were dangerous and powerful, their ability to manipulate matter, energy, and life itself seen almost as satanic in nature. The thought that one of them was standing within arm’s length was sickening. Dream could feel the tight knot of fear tightening in his gut.

He had to get away.

He was unprepared for the rush that tore through him. He took a sharp breath as what felt like liquid fire flooded through his veins, lighting him aflame with power. He felt the heat build at the base of his skull where the mysterious rune was sketched, blocking its magic from hindering him.

The moment he regained control of his body he was moving. The person carrying him, unprepared for him to have any sort of strength, was knocked to the ground as he ripped his arms away. He tore the blindfold off of his face, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the tunnel. Torches flickered from their place high on the walls, offering just enough light for him to take in his surroundings. There had been three people escorting him to wherever they had been taking him. At a glance, it appeared he had already disarmed the strongest of them, that being the unfortunate guard who appeared to have hit his head on the way down and lay unmoving on the cool stone ground. The other two, while seeming to be unarmed, still posed a significant threat, seeing as at least one of them was a runic mage.

The taller of the two seemed to be about his height, wearing a robe made of the skin of a moose, antler protruding from the hood. Red symbols were painted all across the brown coat, spiraling in and out of each other in an intricate dance of a design. He stood calm and collected, pale blue eyes piercing through the shadow of the hood to glare at Dream. The other man looked shocked, standing with his mouth hanging agape, silver eyes wide. He looked like a jester of some sort, purple and teal clothing far too bright to be considered remotely reasonable.

Whoever they were, he needed to get away from them. With roiling heat still rushing through him, he turned and bolted away from them. He did not know where he was going or if there would even be an exit, but the distance between him and his captors gave him the best chance at escaping them. Unfortunately, the long, narrow hallway did not offer any hiding places nor terrain to gain the advantage. But strangely he did not hear the sounds of pursuit, nor shouts of surprise calling to stop him. It was quiet. The only sound was the pounding of his footsteps as he sprinted down the hall. He glanced behind him for a moment, shocked when he saw that the pair was standing exactly as he left them, both just watching him go.

Quite suddenly he felt as though someone had grabbed hold of the back of his shirt collar. His running momentum was halted, shirt choking him as it stopped without him. He coughed and sputtered as he tried to regain his breath from the sudden punch to the throat by his own clothing. Looking behind him again he saw that it appeared that his collar was being gripped by an invisible hand, cloth stretched taught. Then, without warning, it began pulling him back, negating his progress away from the two men. He struggled against the invisible force, even attempting to remove the clothing that dragged him back, but even that was somehow impossible.

“ _Running is futile,_ ” a voice rang in his head. Dream’s eyes darted around, looking for the source of the words, but finding himself alone in the dim hall, inching back towards those he had just escaped.

He fought, pulling, tugging, and yelling, his only thought being the need to get away. But he was caught in the spider’s web and his struggle was only tightening the string. Soon he heard footsteps approaching him, apparently tired of waiting for him to be dragged all the way back to them. A hand clamped on the back of his neck, thumb jamming into the pressure point at the base of his skull. Instinctually his head snapped back, green eyes meeting blue ones.

“ _Sleep well,_ ” the echoing words said from inside his mind. He did not even get a chance to respond before the heat faded from his body and the world turned dark.

* * *

Ranboo listened silently from his cell as the mysterious man fought against the magic that spiraled around him. It was impressive how easily he was able to combat the rune printed on his skin, the man’s own magic twining with something much darker to retake control of his body. He had made it decently far before the younger mage had been able to catch him. The new mage was still new to his ability, their telekinesis weak and unfocused. They would be tired later from having to expend so much energy at once. Already Ranboo could feel their aura dimming from the need of a break. The older mage also seemed to notice this as he decided to approach the struggling man. Ranboo flinched as the magic spiked around the older mage, layers of spells lighting to combat the effects of the magical struggle happening.

Slowly the escapee’s aura faded into unconsciousness, his swelling magic dimming to a pulsating light, almost like a beating heart. Ranboo could tell that the dark magic that had printed itself onto the mysterious man’s soul was far more powerful than it seemed. The spike of power that had helped the man run was nothing compared to its full strength, But every spell had a price to pay, and whatever he had just felt was not something to be trifled with. It reminded him of the magic trapped in the machine, containing a power far too great to be properly contained.

As the magic dimmed outside of his room he relaxed, able to clear his mind of the distracting flashes. Slumping down against one of the walls he opened his eyes, peering around his dark room.

Well, mostly dark.

He stood quickly, catching the particles of the magic left behind from the battle outside. He hadn’t yet met anyone else able to see them. Gathering them all in his hand, he stared down at the pile of what appeared to be glowing dust piled in his hand. Storing it in his small pouch, he carefully hid the magic remnants away from where prying eyes might find them, not that anyone but Niki ever saw him.

He was going to get out of here sooner or later, and those who brought him here would regret the day they met him.

* * *

It was cold. So so cold.

Dream shivered silently in the metal chair as he peeled his eyes open. Immediately around him was a jumble of random sheets of metal and exposed copper wires. His head felt like it was full of cotton, the quiet chatter nearby muffled and warped. The world was too bright and too dark at the same time, the shadows encroaching the edges of his vision a stark contrast to the sparking fire embedded in one of the walls. An intimidating iron door stood tall and proud on one of the walls, hidden behind rows of messy desks with scattered papers and shining metal.

“Welcome back to the land of the living!” a voice shouted in his ear. He flinched back, trying to bring his hand up to block out the sound only to find it tied down to the arm of the chair. Before he could properly look at what was restraining him, a sourly familiar face popped into view. It was the shorter man who had been escorting him earlier. Dream immediately recognized him as someone too joyful for the world they lived in. Nothing but obnoxious with all of his bright colors and sparkling optimism.

“Where am I?” Dream asked, still looking around. His throat was dry and it hurt to speak, his voice clawing through his throat as it escaped as barely a wheeze through his lips.

“You are in the base of operations. We are just waiting for the machine to warm up for you,” the man responded cheerily.

“Machine?” Dream looked up around him and it suddenly hit him that the mess of metal and wires that surrounded him was some sort of mechanism. His heart rate picked up as he fully took in the monstrosity, “What is it going to do to me?”

The man opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a high pitched whine that cut through the air. The sound seemed deafening to Dream, but the man seemed unfazed by the noise, “I suppose you’re about to find out.”

Another person came into view, this one female, “We are ready to start with the questions then, Karl?” she asked, addressing the man before Dream who turned to face her.

“Yes, it should be working now,” Karl responded, stepping away from Dream who began pulling against his bonds.

“Please, do not struggle, we only want to ask you a few questions,” the woman said, stepping forward, hands clasped behind her back as she faced Dream.

He opened his mouth with a retort, but that’s when the voices started, startling any words he had been thinking of right out of him.

They were barely audible underneath the humming of the machine, but he could almost feel them talking to him, reaching into his mind and latching on. It was such a revolting feeling, the invasive noise worming its way right into his core where it could unbury anything it wanted from his heart.

“Let’s start simple, shall we, just to test the machine. What is your gender?”

Dream gave her a look but did not comment on the question. He wouldn’t test them, not yet, “Male.”

A little green light appeared in the corner of his vision. The woman nodded silently to herself, “What color are your eyes?  
  


“Green,” green light. Another nod.

“What is your name?”

He paused, “Dave.”

It felt as if he had been stabbed. He gasped, doubling over in his seat. His hands curled into fists, scratching at the metal chair he was trapped in. The humming whispers that had curled into his soul started to shout, screaming louder and louder, feeling him with the sound of pure suffering. _Lie! Lie! Lie? Lie!_ They seemed to shout.

The light flashed red and the woman frowned, “Come now. What is your name?”

He took a second catching his breath, pulling himself back up to sit straight, “Clay,” he breathed out, the word hardly forming on his lips as he recovered from the shock.

The light flashed green again and the woman smiled. It reminded him of a patronizing parent, face calm while they disciplined a difficult child, “See that wasn’t so hard, now was it, Clay? Next question, what is your talent?”

Knowing what the machine did to some extent now, he figured if there were ever a time to lie it would be now.

“I don’t know.”

The pain returned, but he was ready for it this time, remaining still in the chair as he stared down the woman questioning him. Her eyes were a molted brown, reminding him of a mulch. The voices inside his head whispered to each other, arguing over the conflicting word they were faced with unraveling.

_Lie? True? True! Lie?_

The green light flickered on hesitantly, stuttering to life. He smiled to himself as his lie rang true.

* * *

George paced quietly in his stuffy room, a leather-bound book held tightly shut in one of his hands.. Late afternoon light filtering in through his cloudy window, brushing soft strokes of light across the room. Papers held down by various objects fluttered lightly as the wind that swept in from where his window was cracked pulled at them gently, offering them the chance to fly.

George sighed, peering out of his window up to the clear sky above him. If only the wind could carry him away from this place as easily as it could one of his sketches.

He glanced down at the book he was carrying, considering the blank cover. It was a book for his creative mind to take flight, not only in terms of machines but also landscapes and people. He had been drawing almost constantly for the past day without pause, mind wandering from subject to subject, inspiration to idea, flitting away from the ever-growing anxiety in his chest.

_He had to go back._

_He couldn’t go back._

He didn’t need the machine nearby to hear the warring voices echo through his mind. The battle had been going all day, back and forth in the back of his mind as he subconsciously listed the pros and cons of each option and how he could live with either one.

_It’s your project, your responsibility._

_You created a monster better left to be destroyed._

With an exasperated huff, he crashed down into his chair, resting his elbows on his desk and running metal fingers through his hair. He needed to trim it. It was starting to get out of hand, strands always dropping into his eyes.

He slowly lowered himself until his forehead rested on the cool wood of his desk, allowing its cold to calm his racing mind. A decision would have to be made, but it didn’t need to be made today. He had tomorrow as well to dwell on the matter of his future. Nothing was stopping him from just taking a moment to enjoy the freedom of being away from his metal monstrosity.

He let his eyes flutter shut, resting quietly in the serenity of his office, the one place he was truly safe.

Then he heard it. The dreaded screaming.

It was high pitched and whining. If one wasn’t paying close enough attention they might not even recognize the sound of agony that echoed clearly through the air. But George heard it, loud and as clear as the sky outside his window.

And the screaming only sounded when someone turned on the machine.

George whipped up, head shooting in the direction of the palace even though it was far from his view.

Someone had turned on his machine.

Someone was using it.

He stumbled out of his chair, not moving to pick it up when it toppled to the ground with a loud crash, wood banging against wood. He ran out of his house, not even locking his door behind him as he started sprinting towards the palace wall, the cold wind biting at his skin as he ran faster than he had in a long time.

He had to save them, whoever it was.

He could not let the same mistake be made twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter is going to be an interesting one. Upon the completion of this chapter, I had two different ideas for where this could go, so y'all are in for a wild ride. When there are multiple options, that's where it starts getting really intriguing.
> 
> I can't wait to explore this world with you all to its fullest.
> 
> Are we burning slowly yet?
> 
> A giant thank you to my proofreader once again. She is an absolute angel and I love her for it. And also thank you to my cousins for listening to me brainstorm and geeking out with me over everything and nothing. Hi Sarah and Em, I wonder if you'll ever see this.  
> Editor Notes: "Collecting invisible dust to make your enemies wish they were never born? Super relatable, I must say." "Hey... you wanna write chapter 8 real quickly... ya?" "I am ripping my hair out... I am actually going to go bald." "You actually have no regard for human life."
> 
> As always, please comment. I reply to every single one and it means the world to me, and in case you hadn't already, leave a kudos.
> 
> Love you all <3


	8. Together Alone

Sapnap sat in silence, chin resting gently on his fist and he pondered over the worn table where he sat. It was late, few people wandered in and out of the open cavern that served as a cafeteria for the clan. Some of those who passed him glazed over, noticing his oddly quiet state, it unusual for him to be this still, slumped over like he had lost something too valuable to replace. Sapnap paid them no mind, picking slowly at the flaking surface of the table.

They were right, weren’t they?

He was being too quiet, too still, like a statute laying forgotten in the heavy mist of dawn. He was known here as the lively one, the fire mage too chaotic to be trusted alone. And yet here he was, isolated within his home, no one there to keep the roiling heat that singed his soul in check. They all assumed someone else would take the case, that they didn’t have to have any responsibility. It had been that way since he was a child.

But Dream had always been with him then. Now he wasn’t.

Dream had been missing for just over a week now. No one else seemed to be concerned. If there was anything to worry about, the Fathers would handle it, they argued, shutting down Sapnaps concerns before he could properly state them. After asking around, it seemed he was the only one who had seen Dream leave early the morning he disappeared, vanishing just like any other ghost Sapnap had known. It pained him to think that he had been abandoned again.

_ The screaming of a woman. Bright fire around him, lighting his way, The smoke clogging the sky in dark fury, but somehow leaving him free to run, free to get away. _

He felt the fire rising in him quickly with the panic that came from the memory, too sudden to be stifled. He shot up at the sudden change in his body temperature, jumping away from the wooden table. He started running, heart pounding in sync with the pulsating flame rushing towards his fingertips. He had to get to his safe space before it erupted. Even living in a cave, he had learned very young that far too many things could burn, turning to ash before your very eyes.

_ The sound of wailing ringing against the walls. Sturdy wooden walls falling down around him like nothing more than a fragile house of cards. Shouts of fear and the sounds of struggle tearing through the air. Eyes burning with tears that evaporated before they could fall. _

He was lucky this attack had struck so late at night. It was unlikely anyone would get hurt as he ran haphazardly through the twisting paths of the caverns. Already beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, sizzling and evaporating into the air as he heated. The air around him wavered just slightly, which might make him look like a mirage to others. He was very much real though and he could feel the fire whipping around inside him, begging for an escape. It pushed against his lungs, suffocating him, making his flight or fight response trigger.

_ He wanted to hide. The shouting and screaming was getting louder. The fire was getting closer. He was too hot, too cold. He was burning standing frozen where he was, unable to do anything but watch as the golden fire consumed everything it touched, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. _

He found the crevasse right where he knew it would be. Ducking inside, he pulled himself forward into the secluded room. Where his fingers brushed the walls black burns were left behind on the stone. He stumbled into the small room he and Dream had found so long ago, rushing to the furthest corner. It was pitch black in the dead of night, but he could see just fine, golden eyes shedding light into the corners no one else could see.

_ Footsteps running up crumbling steps. Him, alone in the middle of a blazing fire, waiting for the end to meet him. _

He found his corner, the one always concealed in shadows regardless of the time of day. He could see the blackened burned that marked the walls, the scars marked down in a terrible pattern of fury and fear. Last time he had been here he had almost been caught setting the world alight. He remembered the feeling of his friend’s blank mask on him as he stepped into the light, his eyes still churning with hidden fire.

_ Arms lifting him up gently, shushing him as they leaped from the building, crashing to the ground far below them as they landed. Then they had run, the chill of the rushing wind cooling his burning form. He had looked up then, bright golden eyes, full of fire and fear, meeting emerald green ones set in a face covered in fresh red welts and angry skin. _

He exhaled slowly before letting the fire out.

It poured from his fingertips, filling the darkened corner with molten light, lighting every surface in its blinding glow. He took in a sharp breath as it rushed out of him, flaring out of him with no direction and no sense. His fire filled the air, him at the center, another twig waiting to be scorched by its blinding heat. But it spared him, as it always did.

The walls blackened further as he burned, the light licking more patterns along its surface, tracing over the old ones with new rage. It was beautiful and terrifying, uncontrollable in nature yet it somehow lived inside him, waiting always to be called upon and released.

After a while the light faded, leaving him exhausted and limp. The heat swelling in his soul receded, leaving him along with his thoughts in the dark room, secluded in the even darker corner. He knew his eyes had faded back to their normal earthy color when he could no longer see. But he didn’t need the golden light to know the burns along the walls had been cut ever deeper into the stone.

Fire was a weapon of destruction.

He lowered himself to the ground, sitting quietly. He wrapped his arms around his knees, bringing them to his chest before dipping his head down to bury it there. He could feel himself shaking, just holding back the tears that burned in his eyes. He could have blamed the scent of the smoke that filled the air so completely, but he was well aware that wasn’t it.

“Why did you leave me, Clay?” he asked the empty room, his words echoing of scorched walls and the blackened floor.

He was alone.

\---

The wind rushed past George’s ears as he ran, whipping out behind him, pushing against him. But he refused to be halted. His footsteps pounded against grey stone, the sound banging around in his skull equally as loud as the wind. But louder still was the screaming, high pitched and unending. It was begging him to be set free, to end the suffering. And then it just screamed and screamed, driving painful shrill spikes through George’s mind.

The palace gates were closed as they always were when he reached them, spiraling spikes thrusting upward into the sky darkening as the sun set. He paced anxiously, trying to block out the shrill shouts as he waited for them to creak open for him, allowing his entrance into the pristine nightmare beyond them.

The noise of the base of the gate scraping against the ground caught his attention immediately. He rushed forward, slipping through before it could even open all the way. He knew he was moving too quickly, drawing too much attention to himself as he practically ran past the rows of perfectly placed shrubs and the few people who strode gracefully across the lawns. They were staring at him, he could feel their eyes take him in. Greasy hair tangled with sweat and grime that came from the hurried run, clothing baggy and plain in comparison to their tailored outfits and shining jewels But he couldn’t be bothered to care, the screaming drowning out the murmurs that he knew mentioned his name. He turned when he got to the doors, practically sprinting down the worn servant's path.

He didn’t notice when he crushed the delicate blue blooms he had been so entranced by the day before.

The thin door crashed open as he darted inside the entrance to the spiral staircase. The sound of his footsteps climbing up the narrow area rang out, bouncing off the walls and repeating the noise up into the air above him. When he reached his exit he ran through the door without hesitance. No one was there to see him so he started running again, not entirely convinced he would’ve slowed even if there were someone there to witness his panic. And that is what it was, panic. Full blown and terrifying. Muscles tight, palms sweaty, heart racing. He was scared, scared of not just his machine but what would happen now that it was being used.

And worse, he was curious.

He had been altering the design of it for a while now, hoping to get rid of the terrible voices that haunted his mind whenever he neared it. But those had been but a memory of those he heard before. The ones he heard now were real and piercing and in pain. Every wave of terror that filled him was only amplified by the wailing already haunting his mind, grasping his skull and shaking it until he felt like he wouldn’t be able to take another step. It occurred to him to just stop, to let whatever was happening happen and learn what his changes had done to the machine, what they had fixed, and what still needed solving. His alterations clearly hadn't rid him of the voices, but he couldn’t help but wonder if anything else had changed. But he knew he had to to stop it, he had to keep going to stop whatever torture some poor soul was enduring.

When he reached the staircase he couldn’t help but pause. The screaming was so much clearer here, so much louder than it had been when he was at his home, and the noise would give any sane man pause, make them reconsider staying in this place.

But George had accepted long ago that he was no longer a sane man.

He ran down the stone stairs without another thought. The damp scent of the earth wafted up to meet him, just the scent filling him with so many memories of this place before he had turned on his machine for the first time, back to a time that was so much simpler. A time when he had trusted people.

A time long gone.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he bolted to the right, almost running full out to reach the room he despised so strongly. He almost didn’t see the man standing in front of the door. He almost ran right through him.

“George,” the voice made him still. Looking up he noticed the figure for the first time, confusion rippling through his mind.

“Karl?”

“You can’t go in there, George. Callahan said you would want to go through, said you would do anything… But I can’t let you through,” Karl shuffled quietly in place, but remained standing between George and the door. He looked so small, standing in front of the iron wall, not intimidating in the least. George couldn’t properly think, the ringing shouts crowding out his sense.

“I need to get in. Please… please,” George tried to think up more to his response, anything that would make sense, but the screaming was just too loud, he couldn’t hear anything else.

“No, George I can’t,” Karl looked concerned, and perhaps a bit afraid. It suddenly occurred to George how he must have looked, crazed and sweating, eyes wild, darting every which way as his entire body shook with adrenaline and fear.

“Please,” he begged, unable to think of any other options, “Please, I need to stop the screaming. This can’t happen again. Not again,” George’s words got quieter as he spoke. Gravity suddenly tilted and he caught himself on the wall, dizzy. He let himself sink to the floor, closing his eyes. His breaths were short and fast, the panic he had been suppressing rising to the surface as the screams became louder and louder.

Karl was speaking to him. He sounded worried as well, but George couldn’t hear him. There was too much, too much noise, too much confusion.

The voices were talking to him as well. It was something important, something he was sure he would recognize later, but for now, he let the world tilt before him, feeling it spin even with his eyes closed. When the black came he welcomed it. Being alone would stop the screaming.

He liked being alone.

\---

The machine was a torture device, Dream had decided. Every lie was more painful than the last, but he couldn’t let it show through. He was still tricking the thing somehow, and he wasn’t about to let up. He felt like he was underwater almost, the high-pitched humming deafening in his ears, drowning out any other sound. It was almost peaceful.

“Clay,” the woman's voice cut through the veil of serenity, forcing him back to a painful reality, “Please pay attention. I asked where you were from.”

“I’m a traveler. I don’t have a home,” he held his breath as the lie hit him, gritting his teeth. It felt like a red hot spike was being driven through his chest, left to sit there until the machine decided whether he was lying or not. The green light stuttered on again, relieving him of the pain. He was glad they had allowed him to keep the bandages that covered his face on because he was sure the painful grimace twisted on his face would've been clear. The woman glanced at the light dubiously.

“We’ll have to get that bulb changed,” she muttered to herself, marking something down in the book she was carrying, “Do you have any family, Clay?”

He paused, not expecting the question, “No,” he breathed out, not knowing why the answer hurt so bad. It wasn’t a lie, so what was there to explain the crushing pain in his chest. His heart throbbed as though someone was squeezing it, a stark contrast to the red hot pain of his lies.

What an abnormal feeling.

“I see. Do you have a lover? Any close friends?”

The questions pried at his mind in a way he was unfamiliar with. He could make sense of the emotion flooding him, the strange sense of loss he felt, plain and simple, “No, I don’t,” he answered again, shifting uncomfortably in the metal chair, trying to pull away from the twisting of his heart.

The woman was silent for a moment. The look on her face was hard to decipher, somewhere between curiosity and pity. It sparked some flare of defensiveness in Dream’s twisting chest and he looked away from her, eyebrows creasing on his forehead. Her gaze was uncomfortable and he was content in ignoring it.

“Well, I believe that concludes all the questions we have. Thank you for your cooperation, Clay. I’ll be back shortly.”

Dream watched from the corner of his eye as she turned and strode away, scribbling something down in the thick sheets of paper that made up her notebook. He slowly sat back in the chair, pondering his own thoughts quietly. The humming filled his mind again and he allowed it to carry him away.

He thought back to a time when he was much younger, before he knew about the clan, before his village burned down, before he understood what a burden having attachments was. He thought back to how freeing it had been to run amuck without a care in the world for what would happen the day after or when he would be risking his life. How naive he had been to think that those days were going to last.

The skin of his face began to itch from the memory but he was unable to scratch it with his hands bound like they were. Looking up he wished he could’ve seen the sky, something he wasn’t used to missing. The surface had grown on him it seemed, and not for the better. He would have to write to the Fathers soon to find a remedy for this strange attachment he had begun to have with the fresh air outside of these damp dungeon walls, for the life that filled the people there. For the life he didn’t know if he had ever possessed since joining the clan.

When the twisting pain returned to his chest the word for it finally came to him, striking him hard.

He felt lonely.

How childish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, my dudes, was an interesting chapter to write.
> 
> I hope you all don't mind our little Sapnap cut at the beginning there. He will be reentering the story in all of his glory very soon so I wanted to establish his character a bit more while we were in a place where clearly nothing important was happening <3 I've got some fun ideas about backstory there so feel free to comment theories and stuff.
> 
> My poor proofreader is having the time of her life tearing her hair out over this story. Love you fam, keep being stressed!  
> Editor notes: "Sapnap, my beloved, please go away. You are making it so hard to pog through the pain.", "Idk how you describe breathing fire so well. You've never worn a sweater in your entire life yet you can describe burning alive as if you do it daily.", [when George stepped on the blue flowers] "WHY? WHY CAN'T WE HAVE NICE THINGS?", "You can't have a dialogue between Dream and George if George is UNCONSCIOUS! There have been 6 total exchanges of dialogue between them in a DNF AU!", "You've introduced the characters, you've broken them, and you're telling me there is still build up? Honey."
> 
> Remember to leave a Kudos and a comment, they mean the world to me.
> 
> You all are so incredible, thank you for all the support you've given me and may I cause you so much pain in the near future <3  
> (Surprise coming)


	9. Through the Iron Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double Update <3

When George woke up he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened.

What he was sure of is that he was currently floating above the ground.

George let out a shocked yelp, twisting around in the air to reach for any solid surface available to him. It suddenly was as he immediately crashed to the ground, falling flat on his back. He groaned, blinking up at the ceiling for a moment as his world spun. He felt as though he had just been whipped around like a dead leaf on an autumn wind, endlessly flying about until he was finally deposited back to solid ground. As his eyes began to focus, he looked around, not able to identify his surrounding. It seemed as though he were in the palace, but how he had gotten there was unclear to him.

_ The wind rushing, footsteps pounding, screams ringing in his ears as he ran. _

He flinched as the flash of discordant noise hit him. What the hell had happened to him? Pushing himself up, he sat, swaying just slightly. The motion, as light as it had been, had sent his head spinning again, so he remained still, eyes clamped shut as he waited for it to pass.

“Be careful, George. You hit your head pretty hard,” the voice was behind him, familiar and young. His eyes slammed open and he turned quickly, attempting to identify who it was who was just hovering over his shoulder silently. Unfortunately, moving fast did nothing to help his warbling vision and he was forced to close his eyes again to keep from getting sick before he had the chance to see the stranger.

“Who the hell are you?” George asked, trying to pump as much venom into his words as he could. His attempt failed him though, his voice sounding tired and scratchy, like he had been yelling for a long time. He then noticed just how dry his mouth was.  _ What was happening? _

“It’s Karl, don’t worry,” Karl responded, placing a gentle hand on George’s shoulder. George could assume it was meant to be calming or stabilizing, but he flinched away from the touch, unprepared for it. Karl, seeing this, retracted his hand almost immediately.

“Why was I floating?” George started, keeping his eyes carefully shut as to not let the dizziness take hold.

“Uh… How much do you remember?” Karl responded, avoiding the question.

“I asked you a question, Karl,” George said, impatience and frustration from confusion dripping into his raspy voice, “Why was I floating?”

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Karl said with a nervous laugh, “Were you floating? You sure it wasn’t your imagination?”

He was lying.

George was too tired to put up with lies.

“Karl, how stupid do you think I am? How many secrets do you think you’re keeping from me? How many do you think I wouldn't tell?” George growled under his breath. He could feel the slight panic that began to rise off the man, but he couldn’t be bothered to feel guilty for it. The truth was George knew barely anything about Karl, but if he could use fear to his advantage, so be it.

“Now let me ask you again. Why was I floating, Karl?”

“That’s…” there was a long hesitation, no doubt Karl trying to find a loophole to avoid the answer. Whatever he was hiding, it was very private. George didn’t care. Karl took a deep breath, his words hardly a whisper on the still air, “That’s my talent.”

George stopped, thinking over his statement. So it was either telekinesis or puppeteering. He couldn’t decide which was worse. He would have to be more careful in the future, especially if Callahan was already eyeing Karl up. Karl would make a dangerous ally but a deadly enemy in the future.

“I see,” George said simply, opening his eyes just slightly. The world had mostly stilled, so he took a moment to peer at his surroundings. Even with a clearer mind, he was still unsure of his location, “Where are we? What happened?”

“We’re by the infirmary. You collapsed so I started bringing you up here,” Karl answered, voice still nervous. But at least this time it was true.

“Alright. Do you know why I collapsed?” George asked, trying to piece together the hole in his memory. Clearly, something had happened, but he could not recall what.

“No, not really,” Karl said, but there was something unsure in his statement. It was true in nature, but it was a weak truth, incomplete.

George’s eyebrows creased as he thought over another, less open question, “Were you there when I blacked out?”

“Yes,” True.

“Where was I when I blacked out?”

“The palace.” Could he have been more unspecific?

“Where  _ exactly _ was I when I blacked out?” George asked, his impatience rising ever so slightly.

“Um… by the stairs,” it was once again an unsure statement and George was getting tired of them.

“God damn it, Karl,” he started pushing himself up, getting into a crouch before slowly rising, unsteady on his feet. He could hardly feel his legs at all as he reached a shaky standing position, glaring at the man before him. Why Karl was so keen on keeping this particular piece of information a secret was beyond him at the moment, but he intended to find out, “Which stairs?”

“The, uh, entrance stairs?”

If the moon were the truth and the sun were lies, Karl would be speaking blazing noon on the hottest day of July.

“If you’re going to lie to me, at least try. At least make it believable,” George felt his body tip and he barely caught himself before he fell. He may not have been physically intimidating, but clearly his tone and perhaps his reputation was enough to throw off the young mage. George ground his teeth together, in what could have been anger or simply concentration on standing, perhaps both. His words came out short and hard regardless, “Where was I?”

“The lab stairs,” Karl said meekly, shrinking away.

_ The screaming, louder and louder. It was calling to him, whispering, begging him to come. ‘Save us. Save us.’ it said. He had run to it, he had needed to stop it, needed to save them. But who were they? Why did he need to run? The stone stairs, footsteps echoing in his ears, but the screaming drowning out the sound. The shrill shrieks from beyond the door. Karl, Karl there, stopping him. The world tilting. The screaming fading. The darkness lapsing over him in a gentle entrance to a moment of peace. _

George stood silent, eyes frozen on Karl’s face. He was sure he looked petrified, perhaps traumatized by something the man before him would never fully understand. The legs he could hardly feel suddenly vanished, leaving him to crash to the floor, face still frozen, stuck in a moment of realization. Karl’s voice rang through the air, but he wasn’t there to hear it, the screams too loud.

He couldn’t let it happen, not again. That was a promise.

* * *

Dream woke up in a dark room. This one was even darker than the last, the scent of mold and damp filling his nostrils.

He was starting to miss the fresh air. The damp was beginning to grate on him.

The thought brought on a sort of deja vu.

The last thing he remembered was running from those two mages, one of them a runic mage, though even the specifics on that event were fuzzy. It was as though someone had taken a sheet and covered whatever memories lay dormant between falling unconscious and waking up here. It was clear something had happened, but he could not recall what regardless of how he might try.

He stood quietly, trying to feel his way around his new pitch-black surroundings. Nothing was restraining him here, so clearly they didn’t fear his escape. As he wandered he determined he was in a small stone room, not unlike his last cell. This one also had an iron door embedded into the wall. The only difference to this door was the strange engravings it had. His fingers traced along the rough edges of the carving, formulating an image of what it looked like in his mind.

It was a sun, not unlike one that a child might draw, spikes jutting out of a circle. There were many strange swirling patterns within the edges of the circle, all surrounding what Dream could only assume was written language of some sort. But no matter how many times he ran his fingers along the letters, he could not decipher what they said.

Sighing, he stepped back. There was no source of light in the room, rendering him completely blind to his surroundings. He would have to be careful not to trip. There also seemed to be no opening to the room other than the small slit in the door, just about the right size for a food tray. But even that could only be pushed open from the outside.

These people were nothing if not thorough.

He sat down then, back against the iron door. He tilted his head back, looking up at a ceiling he couldn’t see. Somewhere out there his target was wandering free, developing a threat he had yet to even gain a single bit of intelligence on. Frustration coursed through him, days of imprisonment finally cutting through his carefully built walls of patience. With a cry of sudden annoyance, he slammed his fist into the iron behind him satisfied with the hollow bang it created. The sound echoed through his room for a moment, giving him the satisfaction of being able to do something before the dull thud of pain that came from punching an iron door appeared. It quickly diminished as the binding on his back pumped magic to his fist to quell the soreness.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That mark can only do so much more for you today.”

Dream’s head shot up at the sound of a voice. It had come from behind him, beyond the iron door, muffled and quiet, but loud enough to make out. He turned to face the cool metal surface he had been resting on, squinting as though it would allow him to see through it.

“Who’s there?” he asked the door, feeling foolish afterward, but too curious to let the voice go unanswered.

There was a low chuckle from beyond the door, “A fellow resident of this here stone prison. Niki calls me Ranboo, so I guess you can call me that too.”

Dream didn’t bother asking who Niki was yet, instead focusing on something else Ranboo had said, “What mark are you talking about then, Ranboo?”

“The one on your back, of course. I assume you know it’s there.”

Dream reached a hand to the back of his neck, just above where the binding was. There was no way anyone would know what it was, even if they saw it, “Then what do you mean ‘it can only do so much more for me?’”

“Well it's magical, isn’t it. It protects you, it strengthens you. I’d go so far as to say it’s probably why you’re here. The mages probably think your talent is some kind of magic repellent, but it’s far from that, isn’t it?” Dream could hear the faint smile on Ranboo’s voice through the door. Whoever he was, he was having plenty of fun messing with his new neighbor.

“I don’t know what my talent is,” Dream responded, voice clear and sharp, his talent of lies twining with his words as they slipped through his lips, the excuse the first thing to come to mind.

There was another laugh, “You’re good at your talent, I can see. Must be something you practice. Well, you might be able to fool the others, maybe even the metal monster and its maker. But you can’t deceive me, so don’t bother.”

The words were followed by a heavy silence filled with panicked questions and theories as Dream’s mind rushed to come up with some sort of explanation. Who was this person on the other side of the door? How did they know about the binding? How did they know about his talent? How did they know about him?

“How do you know all this?” Dream’s question rang through the iron in desperation, his own tone making him cringe away. When had he become so immature as to resort to impulse?

It didn’t end up mattering though. Ranboo left him in silence, no response coming from the stranger behind the iron.

* * *

Callahan walked in silence down the twisting halls of the palace. Barely anyone spoke, and he was glad for that. He preferred the peaceful silence that filled his presence. It could have been that those he passed were intimidated by him, it may have been respect, it may have been something else entirely. He couldn’t find it in himself to care which it was though, as long as no one interrupted his focus.

It took momentous amounts of concentration to keep the runes that covered his cloak activated. Some protected him, others gave him abilities he could call upon at any time, but there always had to be a part of him making sure they continued to remain activated. Even in sleep, he was always careful to keep his power source close by, just in case. He had been running low lately, their previous subject no longer able to produce enough power to keep him confident in his supply. Hopefully, this new one would change that.

He turned the final corner on his journey, spotting the stone staircase that led down to his legacy. A room full of the inventions of the future, built by people he had handpicked from the slums of the common people. He had given them resources and opportunity and all he asked in return was results.

Walking down the dim stairwell, he listened carefully. On rare occasions, he had to be careful about appearing in the lab. It was late afternoon, so all of the inventors should have been home, but occasionally there was a straggler. It was always such a hassle to have to wipe someone just because they worked late.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned right, not even bothering to glance down the left hallway. He knew what was there and what their use was. He needn't give it any more attention than absolutely necessary. Walking up to the iron door that led to the lab, he gently pressed his palm against the intricate engravings. There was a soft red glow beneath his palm before the door swayed open as though it weighed nothing. Stepping inside, he took in the room for a moment before moving on.

Messy desks, the smell of old paper and soft charcoal, the dust that rested gently atop forgotten projects and rejected prototypes. It was a wondrous sight, that of innovation, one not many got to fully appreciate. An opportunity he alone was able to offer.

He smiled to himself as he moved deeper into the room, past the half-made machines, beyond the scribbled blueprints. He moved towards the cold fireplace, blackened with use, eyes latched onto the machine just a little away from it. His pride and joy, the most intriguing thing to have been invented here.

George’s little lie detector.

He stepped up to the machine, hand resting on the metal chair it was attached to. A tangled web of wires and pipes formed a frame around the steel seat, a curious net to find one’s self caught in. And their newest catch was about to be evaluated.

Bending down, he reached behind the seat, finding the small engraving carved into the back of the cool metal. He pressed the pad of his forefinger against it, feeling as the small compartment unlocked beneath his touch. He reached into it, removing the small vial stored there and pulling it up to his face.

He grinned.

This new subject would be enough to power him for years to come if he was careful.

And there was no one to get in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused? Good.
> 
> oh ya and  
> DOUBLE UPDATE!
> 
> In celebration of hitting 100 kudos on this work, I'm doing a double update for you guys!
> 
> I promised my proofreader I would do this as soon as we hit it, so here we go <3  
> Once again, big props to her. She is far too cool for me, but I love her anyway. She literally spent two hours yesterday plotting out the next big event in this story so hold on guys, it's getting better.  
> Editor Notes: "I have an idea, but I'm worried you'll use it.", "It's all fun and game's until the author starts smiling."
> 
> Leave a comment, leave a kudos. I appreciate you guys so much, and all the support I get is just amazing! Each and every one of you is loved, remember that <3
> 
> Until next week o/


	10. Tunnel of Fear

George was running. To where, he wasn’t sure, he just knew he needed to get away from the memories that were flashing violently in his mind. It was coming back to him, what had happened, but remembering made it no less confusing.

He had been in his house, pondering over Callahan’s words, when he had heard the screaming. Through fear and desperation, he had immediately run towards his machine, his need to stop the screaming burning inside him like a hot coal, searing a hole through his chest. The lingering ache from the panic was still there, brushing along the edges of his mind.

He found himself outside in an unfamiliar part of the courtyard. He must’ve been in one of the more secluded portions of the castle, the grass here slightly unkempt, the shrubs overgrown. Their branches twisted into the sky, reaching their sharp claws to climb ever higher towards the sun. George stumbled past them, ignoring the gaunt plants. His shadow cast a dark splotch against the ground, warped and elongated in the light of the moon. As he peered at it, he unwittingly flinched away from the twisted sight.

It looked like the monster he was.

As he got farther and farther from the castle, the knot in his stomach began to unwind, causing the rush of the afternoon crash into him. He felt woozy and tired, the multiple sprints and stressful encounters building up in his throat. He felt his eyes burning as the release of stress tugged on the emotions he couldn’t explain. Swallowing back tears, he kept his lips shut tight, pressed into a thin line to hold back whatever was balling up in his throat.

He stumbled over to the stone walls of the palace on wobbling legs, searching for some solid support to ground him. Reaching out to the cold bricks he latched onto them, knees buckling as the weight of the day finally crashed over him. He pressed his forehead against the hard rock, trembling as he continued to deny himself the tears that so desperately wanted to escape.

“You’re fine,” he scolded himself.

He wasn’t expecting the cold stab to his chest, as though someone had shoved an icicle through his lungs. It took him a moment to recognize what had happened.

He was feeling a lie. He had lied to himself. He wasn’t fine.

The sharp truth came bubbling to the forefront of his mind, tipping him over the edge. The tears refused to be held back as confession after confession filled his mind, swelling in his chest in a ball of barely contained secrets.

He was scared. Scared of his creation, scared of what it did. He was scared of who was controlling it and why. He was scared of not knowing, not knowing how much of his life he was in control of, not knowing what was around the corner for him. He was scared of himself and what he had become.

As each truth fell from the locked box of denial a tear fell with it, dropping to the dry dirt below his knees, soaking the unkempt ground. Eventually, he stopped trying to hold back to sobs. They were soft and short, but no less real as they rang up to the moon, his misery painting the sky black and covering the stars with clouds darker than the night sky. The angry clouds rolled across the sky like a vengeful storm and the rain soon followed, concealing George’s tears with chilling tears of their own. The sky cried alongside George for a while, his only company in his dark rush of emotion.

Soon, his tears ran dry, so he just sat quietly on the ground, forehead still pressed gently against the rough stone of the palace. Occasionally a hiccupping sob would work its way to the surface and escape from his lips, leaving him even more empty. The sky continued to shower him in its gentle sympathy, the world darkening with the damp rain.

He was tired. Tired of not knowing what was happening, tired of being confused by a machine of his own creation. He deserved to know who was using it. He deserved to know why.

He sat back from the wall, tilting his head back to look up at the angry clouds that covered the night sky. Rain pattered against his face, washing away the salty streaks left by his own drained tears. It was refreshing to feel the water dripping down his face, quenching a thirst he didn’t know he had. He felt his muscles loosen slowly and he shut his eyes, allowing the rain to rinse away the confusion, leaving determination in its place.

He was going to find out what had happened. Karl wasn’t going to tell him anything else. He didn’t know who else was involved. But he did know where he might find someone with answers.

He stood, walking quickly back towards the room that held his nightmarish creation and the hallway that held its victims.

\---

Karl jogged back and forth through the maze-like hallways of the palace, heart beating just a bit too fast for comfort. He hadn’t expected George to bolt, much less be able to outrun him. He cursed his inexperience with using his talent, if only he had been able to get a hold of George, none of this would be happening.

The halls were empty at this time of night, the only light that of the dim torches that flickered along the walls. They sparked and popped, wavering as he rushed past. He had never been one to be scared of the dark, but there was something especially eerie about the abandoned paths of the normally lively castle. It caused goosebumps to make their way up his neck, sending chills down his spine. The weather outside didn’t help much either, the rain slamming against the stained glass panes of the many windows he passed.

After turning yet another empty corner he gave up, slumping against the wall. The exhaustion from using so much energy to carry George was catching up with him. He wasn’t yet skilled enough to use his talent for long periods of time, as even the simple task of carrying the unconscious man had been extremely taxing.

He leaned heavily on a nearby wall, catching his breath from his frantic search. The headache he normally got from using a lot of his talent at once was catching up to him, starting to crawl across his head to throb just behind his eyes. He placed his cool knuckles against his forehead, attempting to will away the pain he knew would only get worse, but to no avail. With a groan he squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head down.

Maybe he had been right to fear his talent.

_ “Karl,” _ a voice echoed in his mind. He raised his head, immediately recognizing the voice. He opened his eyes, scanning the hall he was in until he spotted him, Callahan. The mage was striding confidently as he always did when something good had happened. Karl gave him a weak smile, the headache still pulsing painfully.

“Greetings, Callahan. I’m surprised you haven’t turned in for the night,” Karl responded, cringing inwardly at how out of breath he sounded. He hadn’t been running  _ that  _ fast _ , _ surely.

Callahan frowned, stopping in front of Karl and looking over him, “ _ You’ve expended too much energy. What were you doing? _ ”

Karl laughed sheepishly, looking downward to his feet, “Well… George showed up while we were interrogating, ah what was his name… Clay. He was panicking and ended up passing out. Since you said that he couldn’t know about us using the machine I carried him off and…” Karl fell silent as he caught Callahan’s gaze. It was intense and made him feel like a deer caught in the light of a hunter's lamp.

“ _ He knew we were using the machine? _ ” Callahan’s voice matched his gaze, equally threatening in nature.

Karl swallowed thickly, “Uh, yes. O-or it seemed like he did…” his words trailed off again as nervousness clogged his throat.

Callahan's face twisted slightly, but not into anyone emotion Karl could recognize. After a moment the mage shook his head and sighed, “ _ We’ll just have to keep a closer eye on him. _ ”

Karl nodded in understanding, headache pushing forth as the movement happened. He flinched, putting his hand back onto his forehead. Callahan, spotting this, pulled something out of his cloak. It appeared to be an empty vial, but as Callahan shook it Karl could just make out what seemed to be glittering stars that faded in and out of existence.

“ _ Within this bottle is concentrated magic, pure energy that powers talent. It’s invisible to the human eye and practically untraceable without a sensing stone. We all possess this substance within us, some more than others. You, Karl, possess much more than I previously believed, it just lays dormant within you. I intend to not only activate it but teach you how to use it from external sources such as this. For now, though, it will soothe your headache, _ ” Callahan smiled gently, uncorking the small vial and pressing his fingertip to the opening. Tipping the glass over he waited a few seconds, leaving his finger over the top. After a moment he flipped it again, raising his finger and pressing it against Karl’s forehead. The effect of the invisible substance was immediate. Karl felt as though his veins had been filled with pure energy, the bright rush of it chasing away his headache as well as any exhaustion he had been experiencing.

“What… how did you get that? Where does it come from?” Karl’s mind spiraled with questions, curiosity strong now that he was fully energized.

Callahan smiled cryptically, corking the vial and tucking it back into his cloak, “ _ Those are questions to be answered another day. For now, I’m going to teach you one of my most closely guarded secrets. _ ” Karl was practically vibrating in excitement as he waited for Callahan to continue. The older mage smiled again, and if Karl had been paying any attention it may have looked a bit malicious, “ _ Karl, have you heard of Runic Magic? _ ”

\---

George’s footsteps echoed in the dark empty labyrinth of the palace halls. The rain poured down outside, giving the atmosphere a calm white noise to concentrate on in the background. It helped distract him from his anxious heart that began picking up the closer he got to the dark tunnel that led down to the lab. He had never been to the lab this late at night, normally going home before the sun set due to Callahan’s regulation that they all get plenty of sleep to work at maximum capacity every day.

Turning corner after corner, he began to second guess himself. The likelihood of finding the victim of the machine was slim at best, right? It would probably be better to just forget it even happened. They weren’t his responsibility. He hadn’t even known that the machine was going to run. Any side effects wouldn’t be his fault.

His own lies sent shocking chills through his chest with every second, making him wince. He fiddled with the goggles that hung around his neck, finding an unusual comfort in their complexity that only he understood. He had made these just like he had made the machine. He knew how they worked, he controlled them. There was nothing to be nervous about. He would see the machine’s victim to get answers and then leave. For science.

He almost stopped as he finally reached the entrance to the looming stairwell that descended to the lab. All the torches lit during the day had been put out, leaving behind an inky blackness no sane person would walk into willingly.

So he stepped in, holding his breath as the darkness enveloped him. He could almost feel his creation just down the hall, beckoning to him, crying for help, teasing him with questions he didn’t know the answers to. As he reached the final step, he stopped, facing towards the left hallway he couldn’t see in the dark. He paused, feeling the goggles around his neck. He smiled to himself. At least sometimes his inventions brought fortune.

Pulling on the goggles he spun a few dials, listening as the telltale sound of redstone activating hummed just slightly in his ear. The world around him brightened as the night vision kicked in, allowing him to see a grainy version of the world around him. However, even with some semblance of his sight returned, the left hallway looked no less menacing.

He had never actually set foot in the left hallway, always ignoring it as best he could. Whatever, or rather whoever, was down there was a victim to his own machine, someone possibly innocent put into something to be experimented upon. Younger him had simply been fascinated, but as the screams had grown louder in his mind, ripping at his sanity, he had felt guilt and horror as the machine seemed to eat away at the boy trapped there until there had been little left but a human shell saying yes and no.

A chill ran down his spine as he stared into the mysterious hall, hesitation strong.

He was snapped out of his hesitance, though, when he heard a pair of footsteps quietly descending the steps. His heart rate increased. He was stuck here, too frightened to set foot down the left hallway and not yet willing to run down the right. As the very least he would be able to see who was coming before they saw him. Unless they also somehow had night vision. If they did he was royally screwed. He had to think of something before-

He cut off his own panicked thinking as he spotted the woman who was making her way carefully down. He felt his jaw drop, shocked.

“Niki?”

The woman froze, hand going immediately to the basket hung on her arm. Even in the horrendous quality of sight he had, he could make out her fear, her eyes darting around the pitch black, entire body rigid in fear. She didn’t say a word, perhaps too frightened to do so.

“Niki, it’s me, George. What… what are you doing here?” he kept his voice hushed, slowly taking a step toward the frozen figure on the steps.

She turned her head towards his voice, eyebrows creasing in conflict, unsure of what to do or say, “I’m lost,” she said softly, but they both knew she was lying. George felt the lie like a stab to the gut, wincing slightly.

“Niki, you know you can’t lie to me,” George couldn’t quite keep the hurt out of his voice, saddened that Niki had lied to him, not once now, but twice.

She pressed her lips together into a thin line, considering her options for a time, the silence echoing through the halls louder than spoken words. It was clearly apparent what she was so hesitant over. She didn’t trust him.

That realization hurt worse than the lies.

“Niki?” he asked her softly, voice unsure as he took yet another step in her direction.

Her shoulders lowered in defeat when she finally accepted her lack of options,”I’m visiting one of the prisoners down here. He’s underfed and I couldn’t help but want to bring him something…” her words trailed off as she looked down at the floor.

George shook his head with a small smile. He probably should have been shocked, but it didn’t surprise him in the slightest that Niki had stumbled upon a secret and only wanted to help someone in need.

“Well, George, then why are you here?” she asked, finding her voice again. She sounded so commanding, even though her voice was still as soft as a spring breeze.

He paused his movement towards her, thinking over his answer, “I’m here for answers, but I can’t quite bring myself to see if they are there,” he said with a sad chuckle, “I’ve never been down the left hallway there and I can’t bring myself to cross that barrier today. And I don’t even know if whoever I might find will have answers.”

“Well if you were planning on questioning Ranboo he lost all his memories long ago and those he does have are foggy at best. You won’t get any answers from him,” Niki’s voice was defensive, maybe even protective. Clearly, she had been caring for ‘Ranboo’ for a while now.

George flinched as she mentioned memory loss, glad Niki couldn’t see him. His fear of the side effects of the machine had just been confirmed in part, “Well someone fell victim to my machine yesterday and whoever was in it is most likely down that hall,” George responded, backing towards the intersection again.

Niki, hearing his retreating footsteps, made her way down the rest of the stairs, but her face had morphed into worry, “Ranboo once mentioned a ‘metal monster that stabs you for lies.’ Is that… Did you hurt him, George? Did you do it again, after all of this time he’s spent healing mentally from whatever happened to him in that lab of yours?”

She was angry and worried, so George did what he could to reassure her, “Whoever was using my machine yesterday did it without my knowledge. I don’t know if it was Ranboo in there or someone else.”

He saw Niki frown, “Then they brought in someone else to torture?”

George didn’t have a response to that, so he just bit his tongue, guilt filling his core.

Niki sighed, “Tell you what, since you’re so hesitant to go down that hallway I’ll go down and see if there is anyone to offer you the answers you want. I’ll come back here and tell you if there is, alright?”

George nodded slowly before remembering she couldn’t see him, “Yes, that would be very helpful, Niki.”

She shook her head, walking towards the left hall, “Alright then. And George, no one hears about this encounter or I will kill you myself.”

He let out a worried laugh, unsure if she was joking, her tone indicating it was quite the opposite. Before he could come up with a proper response she was gone, disappearing into the darkness beyond his vision, swallowed whole.

He backed away, relieved that he wouldn’t have to set foot in that cursed place just yet. Part of him hoped there was no one there to give him answers, just so he could continue avoiding it, but he knew he needed to know what had happened today, so he needed someone to be there.

He groaned lightly, leaning against the stone wall. The deep smell of the earth intruded his nostrils, leaving him feeling like he was suffocating in the small intersection between fear and concern. If only there were an easy way to solve all of his problems. If only life were simple enough to allow that. If only he had never made that machine in the first place.

**_“Ah, come now. Don't say that.”_ **

He shot up from the wall, heart leaping into his throat at the sound of a voice whispering darkly in his ear.

“Who’s there?” he whispered desperately, spinning around, scanning the darkness desperately, but seeing nothing.

**_“You know who I am,”_ ** it responded, the noise brushing across the back of his neck. He spun, eyes wild as he stared into the empty darkness.

“Who are you?”

  
It chuckled darkly,  **_“I’m you.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely, lovely readers!
> 
> This is a slightly longer chapter for you, and guess what, originally it was going to be longer! But I figured I'd torture you all a little more than need be and save the fun part for next week. Who is the deep and scary voice, hmm? I wonder...
> 
> Thank you so so much my good friend Ms. Proofreader for being absolutely incredible and suffering through my angst. We love her, send her some love.
> 
> The comments on the last two chapters were absolutely incredible and brought me so so so much joy to read. Some brought me close to tears with how goddamn supportive they were. I love every single one of you for supporting me and I truly hope I can write the story every single one of you deserves. Thank you so much, I can't say it enough.
> 
> On that note, please leave a comment, please leave a kudos, both are absolute wonders and they bring me so much happiness.
> 
> Subscribe to the work for the weekly updates! I have a surprise when we reach 100 >.> (we are currently at 65)
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> Also, I would like to recommend a fic I think a lot of you would rather enjoy
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906057/chapters/62958187
> 
> This is actually the fic that inspired me to write this whole work. It's an absolutely beautiful fic that I absolutely loved And I hope I can convince you all to send the author some well-deserved love.  
> (Would you guys like me to recommend other fics? Please do tell)


	11. The Voice

Dream sat quietly in his cell. It had been hours, hours of dark silence and impenetrable boredom. It had left him with his thoughts, one of the few things he truly hated being alone with. That was one of the downsides of being an assassin. It always leaves scars, despite how battle-hardened you might be, despite the experience you may have, taking a life never became easier on your soul, only your body.

So as Dream sat in the pitch black for hours, his mind wandered back to his targets. Normally he was able to avoid this train of thought, being able to see something to distract him, even listen to something, but here, where he may as well have been floating in the void, his mind wandered of its own accord.

A woman, clothed in stolen goods, gloved hands up in surrender, falling underneath his blade.

A man, heartless and unrelenting, running for his life only to be silenced mercilessly.

A woman, bathed in red.

A man, pale and unmoving.

A town turned to ash.

A couple, dead together.

A child, parentless, fighting for a life that's no longer his.

All of them names on a piece of paper, written down and tossed aside like dolls a child no longer found joy in playing with, their strings cut, left to fall into the depths of hell.

But they were all side notes, none of them remarkable, all of them scars. And just like every scar, they all had a story, but some were more important than others. Dream’s hand came up to the bandages covering his face, fingers pressing against the wrapping that hid his largest scar, his first life taken, his first step towards glory.

* * *

_ He had been on the other side of town when he had heard the screaming, seen the pillar of smoke. He had dropped the pail of water immediately, rushing off as it hit the ground with a heavy thud, contents flowing onto the sodden ground. His feet kicked up dry dust as he sprinted towards the chaos, pleading, praying that it wasn’t what he thought. _

_ But when had life ever given him what he hoped? _

_ When he reached the burning building, it was already falling apart, blackened beams falling from the side of the house, the entire structure trembling as pieces fell to the ground in a cloud of ash and flames. He heard the horrified screams of the woman who owned the house, the mother of a son whom he had babysat once or twice. He quickly ran over to her, concerned for the young boy. _

_ When he reached her his heart spiked. There was no child in her arms, and no matter how hard he looked he couldn’t seem to spot the head of black hair that should’ve surely been running about. He grabbed the woman’s sleeve, tugging on it, “Ma’am? Ma’am? Where is your son? Is he alright?” _

_ The woman turned to him, fear and desperation in her eyes, “He’s a demon. He’s no son of mine!” _

_ He was taken aback, taking a step away from her in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that response, but from it he could only assume the worst. That there was an innocent child still trapped within those flaming walls, unable to escape. _

_ He moved closer to the roaring flames, heart racing. If there was someone in there, a child no less, it was his responsibility as a human being to save him. It was just the right thing to do, something anyone else would do in his place. He listened for a moment, trying to identify the cries of a child, but he couldn’t hear any. _

_ He hesitated, considering the risk of his own life for someone who may already be long gone to the flame. And his hesitation cost him, because soon screams flooded the crowd, as well as shouts and battle cries. _

_ He whipped around, spotting men clad in black slaughtering the townsfolk, his neighbors, his friends. They fell like flies, going down in waves as the man tore through them, gruesomely and without hesitation. It was terrifying. He backed away, almost running into the flames as his fight or flight instinct kicked in. It was only feeling the scorching heat lick at his back that saved him from slipping right into the crackling fire. However, that meant he was trapped between the murderous men and the blazing flames. _

_ He didn’t hesitate another second, beginning to look for an easy way into the burning building. He slipped carefully around the wallen support beams, making his way towards the door. The shouts and cries from behind him only made him move faster, fear taking over and coursing through his mind. _

_ It wasn’t fast enough though. _

_ Something rammed into him, knocking him to the ground. His chin landed on a patch of glowing charcoal, previously part of the house now set aflame. He scrambled in agony as it burned him, the searing pain flying through him faster than lightning. He quickly rolled away, feeling as though the skin of his neck and jaw were melting away, leaving only bone behind. Tears of pain blurred his vision, but he spotted who had run him down. _

_ One of the men clad in night was looking down at him, a maniacal smile plastered across his face. He held a knife, the blade shining red with the blood of his neighbors. Fear froze him in place for a moment, mind expecting the end to hit him. But his survival instincts moved faster. _

_ He had grabbed a burning stick, the end not hot enough to harm him, and plunged it towards the man. It had impaled him, apparently the end sharp enough to pierce his flesh. He hadn’t stayed to hear the screams, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have heard them. _

_ He had hit a vital organ, marking his first-ever victim as dead. _

_ He had rushed into the burning building, at first just to get away. But as he had climbed the steps, he had heard the soft sound of a child whimpering. Following it he had found him, Nick, sitting on an unscathed section of the floor, a perfect circle left untouched by the flames that ate away at the rest of the house. _

_ He hadn’t questioned it then, instead just scooping up the child and running. He had jumped out of the window, crashing to the ground and sprinting for the forest, knowing not where he was going nor what he would do. _

_ Only knowing he planned to survive. _

* * *

Dream sighed, hand dropping from his face, leaning back against the cool iron door of his prison. He wondered how long he could go without reporting to the fathers before they cut his time limit, before the binding would find its end.

He was shocked out of his thoughts as he heard the sounds of quiet footsteps approaching the cell. He tensed, silently waiting for whatever was to come next, only hoping that it would be merciful in nature, that whatever it was wasn’t there to torment his already foggy mind.

Whoever it was, all he could do was be patient and wait for whatever horror would approach him next to show their face.

* * *

Niki strode quickly down the dark tunnel, footsteps ringing off the walls as she walked. Her mind was spinning around the strange conversation with George, and she wondered briefly if he was trustworthy, if there were another person here if she should tell him about them.

And that was another thing. There could be yet another person trapped down in this hell-hole now, possibly younger than Ranboo, probably scared. Just the thought that another had gone through the pain she had only heard snippets about made her soul ache. No one, judging by what little Ranboo had told her, should ever, no,  _ would ever  _ deserve the torment that whatever was down the right hallway brought. It was a terrible thing that she would give her life to destroy, but that was a plot for another day.

One of her hands trailed along the stone walls, counting the prison doors as she passed. With no way to tell where she was in the inky black that surrounded her, this was the best way of finding Ranboo. Her own blindness reminded her of how George had somehow identified her just by hearing her. It didn’t add up, but she could always ask him later.

Her nails tapped against iron, the metallic sound ringing out along with her soft footsteps,  _ one, two, one, two _ , creating a discordant melody of sharp beats, the sound of travel, of determination. Since she had met Ranboo, not a day had gone by in which he wasn’t fed or wasn’t cared for. And if there were someone else down here, she would just start bringing more bread. She would be damned if she let someone waste away down here.

Finally, she reached the doorway, crouching down to the slot. The heard shuffling on the other side, Ranboo approaching the iron barrier to meet her. She pushed her hand through, palm up for him to find. Slowly, cold fingers wrapped around hers and she took them, grasping them gently, her thumb running over knuckles.

“Hello Ranboo,” she whispered gently, a small smile coming to her lips as she felt a light squeeze in response, “Are you hungry?” It was a redundant question, but she wanted to hear his voice, make sure he was alright, that he hadn’t been tortured again.

“Yes,” he responded in turn, voice as even as it was every other day. Niki gave a sigh of relief, pushing the small loaf through the slit in the door. She didn’t hear it hit the floor, so she assumed Ranboo had caught it. This was affirmed as the soft sounds of bread ripped from bread filtered through the air, all the while Ranboo’s hand still resting in hers.

Niki gave him a moment, thinking up her line of questions, not wanting to scare him off or trigger something. Especially not that.

That mistake had already been made once, never to be made again.

“Ranboo, how did your day go?” she started. Just a small talk question, if anything negative had happened she would know by his answer here.

“The same,” he said flatly, voice muffled by bread.

She nodded, giving Ranboo’s hand a gentle squeeze instead of responding vocally. She didn’t quite want to admit how comforting that statement alone had been. So she continued, “Was anyone else down here today?”

There was a pause, perhaps one longer than it would usually be. Niki noticed it, but decided not to comment upon it as Ranboo started to speak, “Ya, there was. They didn’t bother me though.”

“Who was it? Do you know?” Niki pushed gently, eyebrows creasing.

“I didn’t catch his name,” Ranboo answered vaguely, allowing the words to settle heavily on the air, hinting that he might know more about this person than he was letting on. Niki frowned at this, but allowed him to tell the tale as he wished. Ranboo gave a soft laugh, “I think I may have frightened him a bit. You don’t have to ask me about him though.”

Niki paused, thinking over his words for a moment, “Why don’t I have to ask you?”

“You can just ask him yourself, “and Niki could hear the smile on his lips. Through the initial surprise, she frowned, something feeling off about Ranboo today.

“And where might I find him, Ranboo.”

“About five feet behind you. Careful though, his tongue is one of deception, and he is good at what he does.”

Niki blinked, turning around. Of course, she didn’t see anything, the impenetrable darkness not showing her anything of her surroundings regardless of how she might try. But she could assume what was behind her. Another cell, another iron door, another lost soul.

She felt Ranboo’s fingers slip from her hand. She opened her mouth to ask why, but he answered before she could, “Ask him whatever you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

His words were bitter, but Niki left him regardless, curiosity and pity for the newcomer taking hold.

* * *

**_“I’m you.”_ **

George shook his head at the empty darkness, simply denying the statement silently, still trying to wrap his head around the disembodied voice. The only person he could think of who could speak this way was Callahan, but there was no reason for him to be saying any of these things. And, at the same time, something felt fundamentally different about this voice compared to Callahan’s. It was darker, closer, more personal, as though a piece of his soul were speaking to him.

Perhaps he had finally completely lost it.

There was a reverberating chuckle. It bounced off the edges of his mind, ringing in his eardrums,  **_“You are not mad. No. In fact, you are the sanest here. You created me, an extension of yourself, of your own mind, your own essence, even your own talent. You infused me into a dream, and here I am, closer to you than ever before.”_ **

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out of my head,” George said, voice pitiful and pleading. He pressed his palms to his temples as though trying to push the invasive voice out of his mind, but the attempt was in vain.

There was a sympathetic clucking sound, like a mother tutting a child after they fall and scrape their knee doing something risky,  **_“You’ll come to understand in time. For now though, I felt only the need to inform you I am here. I must be off though, I can only speak to you for so long,”_ ** as it spoke, the voice slowly receded, fading into the shadows of George’s mind.

“Wait!” George cried, head snapping up as though trying to locate the noise again, trying to find some physical form to pull back, to demand answers from, “I still don’t… I still don’t know who you are!”

There was a faded laugh,  **_“I am you. I have always been you. You know me, better than you realize. Set me free from this prison, and maybe then you will have your answers. Do not stray from your creation, it is the key.”_ **

And then he was left in silence.

He called for the voice a few times, questions, pleas, all left unanswered, or perhaps just ignored. There was something painful about having something so cryptic given to him, only to be snatched away again. Maybe it was because of his need to understand, his thirst for discovery, but he wanted to know, needed to. And he could only use the clues given to him.

His creation.

The machine.

He had an answer for Callahan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.
> 
> It's late and this was rushed and I have an hour to post this and I am so tired so imma make this brief.
> 
> Thank you <3
> 
> Alice is having a stroke over who the voice is.
> 
> Leave a comment  
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> I'm sorry it's so late ;-;  
> Love you all <3


	12. Trapped

Niki felt her way to the other wall, quickly finding the door adjacent to Ranboo’s. Dream listened to her shuffle around in the dark, keeping his head resting against the cool metal behind him. He knew not who she was or what she wanted from him, but he didn’t exactly have any way to ignore her, so he just waited, curious as much as he was suspicious. He had no reason to trust this woman, nor any reason to communicate with her. For all he knew she could be a mind reader of some sort, or someone else working to find his secrets. Whoever she might be, he wasn’t just going to give in to her words.

From what he had heard from Niki’s conversation with Ranboo, she seemed kind, concerned, and friendly. But he knew all too well that words could be deceiving and what horrors those deceptions could bring.

It was very rarely good.

Regardless of his preparedness for the woman to speak to him, the hollow knocking of her knuckles across the iron surface of his cell door still startled him. He jumped away from the surface, determining he would much rather be facing the barrier between him and this stranger than with his back to it.

“Hello?” a gentle voice said through the iron, the noise muffled by the metal, “Are you there?”

Dream stayed silent, eyes narrowing slightly as he peered through the dark. It bothered him that he wasn’t able to reliably see what was around him, having to rely on his sense of hearing. It was unnerving to say the very least.

She waited for a moment, but after realizing he wasn’t going to respond, she continued, “That’s alright if you don’t want to talk. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through for the past few hours,” she paused again, giving him the opportunity to respond if he wanted to. After a few beats of silence, she introduced herself formally, “Well, I’m Niki. If you’ve spoken to Ranboo, he might have mentioned me,” she let out a soft laugh. 

“I won’t harm you. That, at least, I can promise. I know this is confusing. You’re probably scared and hurt, but I’ll be coming back every night. I’ll bring you and Ranboo food, make sure you’re alright,” she let out a soft sigh. The simple exhale sounded so tired, and it made Dream soften, just a bit. Just enough.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. He fought back the warmth that swelled through his soul, not wanting it there. He was an assassin, hardened with a heart of stone, bound to his duty to kill by the black mark that marred his skin. Feelings such as compassion had been beaten out of him by his own blade, he had no time for such faults.

And yet here he was, stone heart turned to such malleable gold by a few sweet words spoken to him.

“You’re welcome,” he could hear the smile in Niki’s words, almost able to picture the gentle face that framed it, motherly and welcoming. It was just as alien to him as the lively streets of the surface were. And he found himself wanting it, wanting to hold onto this strange warmth that he found himself filled with.

Maybe this was his real mission. Maybe this trip, with no time limit and no boundaries was secretly a test. Maybe the Fathers knew that he would experience these feelings. Maybe his actual challenge was to keep them at bay.

A surprisingly difficult task.

He heard Niki shuffle beyond the door, readjusting herself perhaps. She took a slow breath, “There is someone else who wants to meet you. His name is George. I was wondering if I could have yours, your name that is, to give to him.”

Dream blinked, mind spiraling as he went over the words again in his head. Someone else wanted to speak to him? And their name was George? They couldn’t be… surely not…

“Clay,” he responded quietly, the word still a sensitive scar. On the off chance that this George was, in fact, the target he was after, it would help to keep his story consistent. This might just be his chance to worm his way into George’s trust. And if Niki were the one talking to George it seemed likely George would already be sympathetic to his position. The perfect foothold had just been carved out for him.

“Clay,” Niki repeated, storing the word in her mind, “Thank you. I know it must be hard for you to trust me, but I’m glad we’re getting somewhere,” he heard her move again, “Well, Clay, Ranboo, I’m going to leave for a moment, but I’ll be back soon. And this time, I’ll have a friend with me.”

As she walked off, Dream relaxed back, slinking farther back into his small stone cage. He hugged his knees to his chest, going over his character in his mind. This was his chance to get attached to George, maybe even his ticket out of here. He had to be perfect, precise.

After a few minutes of silence, he heard a low laugh across the hall. He peered up, staring through the darkness, imagining his fellow captive beyond his cell and into the next. Dream wanted to ignore him, but something about the laugh bugged him, like Ranboo knew something he didn’t.

“What is it?” he asked slowly, not trusting the suspicious stranger.

After a beat of silence, he spoke, words amused and laced with a taunting note Dream despised.

“I warned Niki that you were deceptive. And yet, all throughout speaking to her, the only person you lied to was yourself.”

* * *

George sank to the floor, curling up. His knees reached his chest and he took a moment to recover from the bizarre interaction that he had just had. His head spun and it felt as though the world was tilted vertically only to confuse him more. He took a deep breath to clear his mind, only then realizing he had been holding his breath, chest aching from lack of oxygen.

The voice’s words echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but theorize about who it might be. Callahan seemed to be the obvious answer, but something told him that wasn’t right. Deep in his gut, he knew Callahan wouldn’t have done something like that with good reason, and whatever that reason was, he figured there would probably be a better way to go about it than whatever he had just experienced.

**_‘I am you’_ **

He was himself, who else could he possibly be. Who else could possibly be  _ him _ ? If it were just a lie, then why? What could possibly be gained by claiming his identity?

And if it wasn’t…

Well, that just wasn’t something his mind could wrap itself around, especially not in this state.

Today had been more than one man was able to handle, and the effects of that were beginning to take effect. His heart was a dull thud, solemn and distant, a simple beat far too slow for his churning mind. He felt as though he had been running for eons and was still running. Even here, sitting on solid ground, surrounded by sturdy stone, familiar in every way, he felt as though he were racing against a world moving too fast to process. And it was beating him.

He curled into himself further, feeling as though the dark that surrounded him was closing in, trapping him within his mind that felt so inferior in that moment. His lungs begged for air he didn’t need, pumping faster and faster as he hyperventilated, panic setting in.

He was trapped, unable to run from this monster created by his own mind. It loomed over him, leaching into his lungs, drowning him. It soaked his skin, chilling him to his core. It infected his mind, filling him with thoughts he wanted nothing to do with, things he only wanted to run from.

This creature, this horror of his own creation, it was his to deal with, his to hide. He had been hiding it for years, deceiving even those closest to him, until they too were consumed by the shadows, fading to nothing.

So when he heard footsteps approaching him, he swallowed his monster, forcing himself up on unsteady limbs and grasping to whatever sense of normality he could find.

“George? Are you there?” Niki’s voice echoed through the halls, and even though he was expecting it, it shocked him.

“Uh, yes. I’m here,” He replied, proud of how steady his voice seemed in his ears. As though nothing had happened while she was away.

“Right, well,” George watched as she entered the range of his vision through the goggles. Her grainy face looked worried, though not for him. Though she couldn’t see him, she looked away, as though guilty of something. His heart picked up just a bit, just enough for him to recognize his own nervousness. The all-too-familiar knot tied itself into his stomach. His throat closed, choking him, making his next word come out strained.

“Yes?”

She blew out a gentle breath, hand not carrying her basket beginning to fidget with her skirt as she seemed to consider her words. After a moment she turned in his general direction, eyes unfocussed in the dark, “There is someone else down there. Someone other than Ranboo.”

His heart paused, hiccupping as he processed the words. His eyes darted to the looming hallway just behind Niki, dark and hungry, ready to swallow him whole. Down that tunnel were the people who had been hurt by his own invention. Down that tunnel were the answers to the questions that tore at his soul. Down that tunnel were those he had broken beyond repair. He, an inventor, a scientist, a visionary, the person who had broken another for a step up in this world.

His heart twisted with guilt and fear.

At his silence, Niki continued, “His name is Clay. Ranboo confirmed they brought him down earlier today.”

George’s eyes snapped back over to her, his mouth fell just slightly open in surprise. The answer his mind had produced for him made sense, but he didn’t want to think it over.

Clay, who he had met in the market streets, who had been kind and humble and sweet. Clay who had been mysterious and misty, never quite enough for him to grab onto. Clay who hadn't seemed to be interested in buying anything from the stalls, no bags to carry items on or near his person. Clay who, to an average onlooker, might’ve looked poor, maybe even homeless.

The purge that night. The thundering of hoofbeats as they rounded up those who didn't belong, those who needed help to take that step in the right direction. The man he had seen outside his window, somehow not affected by the spell they had cast over the town. That man who had fought tooth and nail. He who had seemed so familiar in some way.

A man who had been able to evade the talent of one of the kingdom's most powerful mages.

If Clay were able to do that with all talents, perhaps even stronger magic, there would be no doubt the palace guard would bring him in. George could picture them questioning him, only for him to prove immune, or at least resistant to their talents. He could imagine them coming up with a simple solution. A creation made to detect lies where others couldn’t.

He took a step towards Niki, grabbing her hand tightly. She jumped at the sudden contact, head jerking to face him.

“Take me to him.”

She nodded, face twisted in confusion. George didn’t even mind that she hasn't responded though he hypothetically shouldn’t have been able to see her. He needed to know if he was right. If his theory proved to be true.

Niki started leading him down the darkened left hall, into the one place he had never gone down.

To the place he entered now to save a soul who didn’t deserve the fate he had let another befall to.

Fear be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends.
> 
> Shorter chapter today, my apologies for that, but it has a reason. The first is that some people told me not to burn myself out (What fools, why do I listen) because I've been writing at least 5 different stories semi consistently. So on the upside, I'll hopefully have a couple of other fics coming out shortly.
> 
> The second reason is that the next chapter is going to be huge. Probably one of the largest chapters yet if I can help it. 13 is the chapter we've all been waiting for though. The glorified meetup n the left hallway <3 (or is it??)
> 
> I hope I do it justice.
> 
> Thank you so much to my lovely proofreader, who panicked with me when I nearly forgot to write this chapter and is panicking with you as I type this end note about our two main boys finally talking to one another.
> 
> Leave a kudos, leave a comment. They both mean so much to me.
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